


a warm hum

by blackfirewolf



Series: pack dynamics [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Traits, Body Language, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Gay, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pack Dynamics, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Self-Esteem Issues, Shifter!Sasha, Team as Family, but not really, kinda cat!jon, kinda has elements of a/b/o?, shifter!Jon, shifter!Martin, shifter!Tim, vampire!Elias, will add more character tags as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:42:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23307742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackfirewolf/pseuds/blackfirewolf
Summary: Martin never expected to find a pack at the Magnus Institute, of all places, but he wasn't complaining.Now, if only Jon would accept that he was a part of it, too.-----------Or, an urban-fantasy/supernatural/werewolf (?) au where everyone is a family and nobody dies.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: pack dynamics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676167
Comments: 161
Kudos: 614





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so self-indulgent but the s5 trailer just dropped and I need fluff or I will literally die. I also have no idea how to classify this au other than the entities still exist but everyone is some sort of supernatural creature instead of human and they actually communicate and care for each other. Hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> Shout-out to basil for encouraging me on this, I've known them for one day and would kill a man for them.

( _The process in which Martin Blackwood discovers his new family starts on a normal Tuesday afternoon, and it goes like this_ :)

Martin had just had the thought to pack up for the day when he realized Tim was leaning over his desk, a wolfish grin curling his lips into a _very_ familiar look. A familiar look that immediately had him freezing like a deer in headlights. And not because he was scared of Tim or anything—Tim had actually been the one to show him around on his first day and had remained the most welcoming since—but because Martin recognized that mischievous look. He’d already been on the end of it more than once (like the time Tim had convinced him to push him on one of the carts down the Archive’s hallways, which had very quickly resulted in a crash that got the both of them thoroughly and embarrassingly chewed out by a furious Jon), and he already knew that whatever Tim was planning wasn’t going to bode well for the nice, quiet evening he’d been envisioning in his head. 

“Oh boy,” he blurted out, and Tim’s smile only grew wider.

“Something the matter, Martin?” he asked sweetly. Martin quickly shook his head, gaze casting down to where his bookbag was stashed beneath his desk. As he eyed it calculatingly, he briefly considered just grabbing his stuff and making a run for it, before he realized how ridiculous that idea was. He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake! He could deal with whatever his co-worker wanted, no matter what sort of shenanigans said co-worker was no doubt up to. Blowing out a weary sigh, he looked back up and forcibly relaxed his shoulders. Tim hadn’t moved from his casual lean, and his eyes were even brighter with amusement than before.

Martin resigned himself to his fate. “What can I do for you?”

“Moon’s coming up,” Tim said, much too cheerfully, “and me and Sasha wanted to know if you wanted to go runnin’ with us.”

Something in Martin’s gut lurched, squirming with a mix of anxiety and excitement. It was… well, it wasn’t an unreasonable offer, was it? They’d all worked together for years at that point and they had only grown closer since being transferred down into the Archives, to the point that he met with Tim and Sasha regularly for drinks at the local pub or for the occasional movie-night at one of their flats. Martin was admittedly still nervous around them, most of the time—not just because he was acutely aware that he was working with people actually qualified for their jobs (and he was just a drop-out that had lied on his CV), but also because…

Well, here was the thing: Martin had never exactly been the most popular person in any social circle, and he couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that people only spent time with him out of pity or some faux-pas attempt at politeness. He didn’t think that people necessarily… _disliked_ him (except for maybe Jon, and that was a whole other… _thing_ Martin didn’t want to think about), but more often than not, Martin was just the type of person to simply fade into the background. Someone that was invited to things because he was standing nearby, not because anyone particularly thought of him. He’d kinda assumed it was the same with Tim and Sasha, but they’d both gone out of their way to include him in things since they’d all been assigned to the Archives, and he’d have to be thick to write that off as purely out of pity or politeness. They weren’t just co-workers, they were… friends, he supposed. 

So why, then, did Martin suddenly feel so scared at the idea of a midnight run with them?

Tim’s smile faded just a bit at whatever expression Martin was giving him. “No pressure; just thought it might be a good idea, ya know? I know I’ve been cooped up down here a bit too long. Break would do us all some good, I think.”

“Y-yeah.” Biting down on his tongue, Martin resisted the urge to ask why they would choose him, of all people, to spend the moon with. Instead, what came out was, “So… just us, then?” He immediately kicked himself for asking such a _stupid question, god could he be anymore desperate?_

Tim’s brows scrunched together in confusion. “What? Yeah, of course, who else—oh. Oh my god.” His grin was back. “Do you mean _Jon_?”

“N-no?” he squeaked out, but Tim was already letting out a bellowing laugh.

“It’s alright! No need to explain.” Tim winked and Martin felt himself flush in response, his stammering protests ignored as Tim barrelled on. “But yes, we did ask Jon, actually; he looked like he’d swallowed a lemon before making some excuse about work. You’d think he’d be the one who could benefit the most from a run though, hah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Martin agreed absent-mindedly, his mind awhirl with the conversation thus far. Then another thought occurred to him, one that was significantly more personal and he already knew it was a bad idea to voice it, but his lips moved before he could stop them. “Don’t…” He hesitated, then when Tim rose an eyebrow at him and he realized he couldn’t back out, he pushed on and asked, “Don’t you have your own packs? To run with, I mean?” 

A dark shadow seemed to pass through Tim’s eyes and he leaned back. “No,” he said. His tone was suddenly clipped and sober, and it made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Martin shrank back, cursing himself and wishing desperately that he could cram the words back into his mouth.

“Tim, I’m sorry, you don’t have—”

“It’s fine, Martin. I had a pack when I was younger, but not now.”

“And Sasha?” Martin asked tentatively, because apparently he couldn’t leave well enough alone.

“Same boat, I think. She didn’t offer any details.” Tim shrugged, expression forcibly lightening as he offered Martin another quick, exaggerated wink. “So, what do you think? Was that a yes?” The deliberate change in subject was obvious, but Martin latched onto it eagerly.

“I—yes, I suppose it would be… nice. Haven’t had a run in awhile.”

Tim clapped him on the shoulder, genuine excitement starting to roll off him in waves that were reminiscent of that all-too-familiar grin that only ever meant trouble. “Excellent! I’ll let Sash know. We’ll probably be car-pooling with her, after all. I’ll text you the details for this weekend. See ya later!” With a quick hand-wave and yet another wink that didn’t fail to make Martin blush, _again_ , Tim left the office as quickly as he’d arrived, leaving behind nothing but a ringing silence and a dozen questions that Martin didn’t have the answer to.

Martin gave a miserable groan and let his forehead thump down onto his desk. _What on earth_ , he thought, _have I just agreed to_?

* * *

See, it wasn’t that Martin didn’t _do_ runs. It was impossible to remain cooped up for an extended period of time, to ignore the instincts crawling beneath his skin, especially with the moon’s influence, so Martin _did_ regularly go out. Just… it was never with a _pack_. He’d always just gone out with casual acquaintances and old high-school friends or other loners; people that were friendly enough, but that didn’t really know him. People that weren’t packmates. 

Besides, Martin had never had a pack.

( _Well, that wasn’t quite true either, he mused. When he was very, very young he’d had his mum and his dad, and they’d been his pack—if he thought hard enough, he could even vaguely remember the glowing warmth of their bond, full of love and trust and protection. But then his mum had gotten sick, and his dad had left, and his mum had been so heartbroken and angry that any shred of pack remaining between the two of them had been ripped apart and abandoned._

 _Mostly, Martin remembered how much the rejection had hurt. Like someone was tearing into his chest with their blunt nails, and there was nothing he could do, nothing to help soothe the ache it left behind. Even now that he was twenty-nine years old, it still occasionally haunted him at night—a gaping black hole that swallowed any ounce of happiness he had and left him hollow with a loneliness so consuming that it was like being eaten alive._ )

The point, though, was that Martin felt raw with nerves as the weekend crept steadily closer. By the time Sasha’s car pulled up on Friday night, an unstoppable tide of anxiety was churning in his gut, which hadn’t been helped by his swirling thoughts on packs and bonds and how long it had been since he’d actually gone out for a run (had it really been a couple months? Tim was right—they _definitely_ needed a break). It was far too late to back out though, so he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax as he slid into the backseat, giving both Tim and Sasha an uneasy smile as he did so.

He’d expected to feel a bit like a third-wheel, so he was surprised and incredibly relieved to see that Tim had decided to sit in the backseat with him, draping his head over the driver’s seat as he chatted directly into Sasha’s ear. After greeting him, the pair easily drew him into conversation, playfully teasing each other for their preferred radio stations, and dragging Martin into a debate about some pop-culture gossip he didn’t fully understand. When Tim realized he was losing the argument (something about the most recent online meme trend?), he switched tactics and started giving dramatic criticisms about Sasha’s bad driving habits instead, laughing when she took one hand off the wheel to swat at him blindly, and it was in that moment that Martin realized how comfortable he was, how Tim’s and Sasha’s bright and welcoming presences had somehow soothed his nerves without him even noticing.

 _Maybe this won’t be so bad after all_ , he thought, and relaxed a bit more in his seat. It wasn’t like Tim and Sasha were particularly intimidating people, anyway (unless he considered how good they were at their jobs, but they weren’t at work right now, so that didn’t count). And they genuinely seemed to want him there, which even if Martin didn’t understand it, still made him feel nice.

Eventually, they pulled up to a park. It was fairly empty, he noticed—only a couple packs were there, standing in their own circles and chatting as they waited. A few of them eyed their trio and Martin quickly looked away, resisting the urge to duck behind Tim as he did so. He wondered, not for the first time in his life, if they could sense his lack of a pack—like his loneliness carried its own unique scent that they could smell a mile away.

Tim bumped his shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts, and he grinned as he steered Martin away from the others. “Come on,” he said cheerfully. “Sash says she knows a good spot.”

The spot, it turned out, was a small clearing not too far into a forested area. A picnic table stood at the center, and Sasha had already freed herself of her shirt as they approached. Martin respectfully averted his eyes and tugged at the hem of his own shirt. He couldn’t help but still feel a bit self-conscious as he stripped off his own clothes, breathing in the crisp autumn air as he stood in his boxers and tried to avoid eye-contact with the others.

( _His mum had never been particularly kind about his size. She had always chided him about his eating habits and complained about his height, and Martin suspected she loathed that he had inherited his father’s build rather than her own_.)

Sasha and Tim were still chatting, but Martin largely tuned them out, focusing on keeping his breathing under control and convincing himself that neither of them could see his stretch-marks in the shadowy light. It was a stupid thing to be nervous about, but old habits died hard, and Martin usually made a point to wear clothes that covered him up—it was just more comfortable that way, for many different reasons, but the main one was that Martin liked feeling smaller. He liked his baggy pants and the giant sweaters that swallowed his bulk. He liked the feeling of having a layer between himself and the rest of the world.

When he peeked up at Tim and Sasha, several minutes later, he saw that they had obviously picked up on his discomfort and were looking away, although they kept themselves angled in his direction so that he remained a part of their group. It was a simple but deeply kind gesture, and Martin felt a deep fondness settle over him. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite as exposed, and he shifted a step closer, even though he still felt too shy to join in on their conversation.

( _Again, the thought that maybe things wouldn’t be too bad drifted through his mind, although he tried to avoid it for fear of jinxing himself_.)

He wasn’t sure what time it was, but as the moon peeked above the treeline, he felt something in himself sharpen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tim and Sasha perk up as well. A sudden, fierce calm swept through his bones—a burning that was like a trembling, caged animal. It was all energy and anticipation and the tight coil of muscles about to unravel. It didn’t hurt, not yet, and Martin lost himself in the sensation, in the sudden surge of confidence and belonging that seemed to burn within him.

Then the full moon crested the sky, glowing like a second sun, and the burning truly flared to life.

( _Being a shifter went like this: The process of shifting itself always felt warm and a tad uncomfortable, but shifting during a moon was different. It was like pressing his entire body against an oven, like an animal closing its jaws around his torso, like a collapsed building pinning down every one of his limbs. It was an involuntary need that scorched his veins and consumed anything and everything. The moon shift wasn’t something that could be fought—it would just invite more agony, more burning and crushing and manic helplessness—and so he surrendered to it instead, allowed the heat to flare through every crevice of his body, swift and searching as if it could burn everything human inside of him to ashes, and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt—)_

And then the hurt disappeared as quickly as it had began, and the intensity faded out, leaving Martin shaky and warm and sprawled out on the forest floor. Next to him Sasha and Tim were standing, shaking out foliage from their coats, and it only then hit Martin that he had never seen their wolf-forms—and by extension, they had never seen _his_.

Because Martin was big as a human, but as a wolf… well, he was nothing short of massive. A bulk of fur and muscle that always seemed to tower above anyone he ran with, and it was why he usually just curled up on his bedroom floor for the full moon, because if there was one thing Martin hated more than his own size, it was being feared for it.

Tim approached him, head cocked and ears standing at attention. He was fairly large, but still a good foot shorter than Martin, and his coat was a lovely lush brown streaked through with black. In this form, his scent was much more apparent—a mixture of sugary coffee and fresh water and whatever cologne his human-self used.

As soon as Martin looked up and caught eye contact with him, he rolled over and tucked in his tail, bearing his belly and throat submissively. In his experience, it usually helped to surrender immediately; to establish that he didn’t want to be the alpha and that his companions had nothing to fear from him. It usually turned into a double-edged sword; he didn’t particularly _want_ to be a leader, but his quick submission combined with his size usually meant a power-trip for whoever ended up on top. Martin couldn’t even begin to recall the amount of times he’d been forced to the back of a run or nipped at simply because a leader wanted to look big and tough by bossing Martin around.

Tim cocked his head and sniffed at him. Martin held perfectly still, anticipating the familiar brush of teeth over his throat, and tried not to think as he stared at the towering trees out of the corner of his eye. A part of him, the part that was always more wolf than human during the moon, didn’t like it—didn’t understand the self-consciousness of his human-self, the guilt and shame and need to restrain himself, but Martin was still Martin even with the moon looming overhead, and so he kept still.

Nothing happened for a few moments, until Martin began to feel nervous, wondering if something was wrong. He wasn’t expecting it when Tim nudged him in his ribs, and when he looked up in surprise, it was just in time for Tim to paw at his chest again, jabbing impatiently at the spot next to his armpit. Tim gave him a wide, tongue-lolling grin, waving his tail invitingly as he dropped into a play-bow and let out a single bark. The message couldn’t have been more clear: _No Submission. No Alpha_.

Hesitantly, Martin flipped back onto his feet. Tim let out another eager bark, jumping back a few paces, but Martin was distracted by Sasha trotting up alongside them. She was a bit smaller than Tim and had a gorgeous silvery-white coat that almost seemed to glow beneath the moonlight, but it was the way she carried herself that drew his eye. It was so certain and controlled that he began to instinctively roll over onto his back again, when she stopped him by reaching up and giving him an affectionate lick across his snout.

Seeing how he froze at that, Tim let out a noise that was surely the wolf equivalent of a laugh, and Sasha turned to huff in his direction. Her tail was waving back and forth like a flag, though, so Martin knew she wasn’t truly angry. Shaking off his surprise and giving into the primal instincts that were always more prominent during a full moon, Martin gave her a quick lick in return, settling for her forehead so he wouldn’t have to crouch. Her scent tingled across his tongue—like buttery popcorn and overripe strawberries and lemongrass incense.

Tim jammed his nose into Martin’s side again, skipping on his paws as he tossed his head towards the trees. Again, the message came out loud and clear, and Martin eagerly leapt forward, feeling the thrill in his chest as the others fell into step alongside him.

His more human thoughts faded as he ran, all his anxieties and doubts disappearing under the onslaught of rippling shadows and patches of moonlight through the trees. Nearby, there was a sound; probably a small prey animal, but he didn’t want to hunt at the moment ( _and his human brain whispered that it was gross anyway, that they would prefer not to wake up with fur and blood in-between their teeth_ ). There were other scents, too, of other packs out running, and he angled away from them, not in the mood for a stand-off. Instead, he set off deeper into the park, following a narrow, natural path through the undergrowth that had probably been trod down by other shifters in the past.

The brown wolf stayed at his side, panting and yipping and nudging his ribs playfully whenever he got close enough. They could have been the Alpha but hadn’t taken it. Neither had the silver wolf, that loped in long, quick strides at his other side. They were his equals—he couldn’t remember that ever happening, of not lagging behind other wolves that made him feel uneasy or like something lesser. Here, he could just _run, run, run_ with the brown and silver wolves surging alongside him, keeping pace as he pushed even faster, the ground dry and firm beneath his paws, and everything was wind and energy and the tight coil and release of muscles and, most of all, pure, untamed _freedom_. 

The brown wolf let out a long howl, deep and a bit breathless as they kept running, and the silver one answered in a high-pitch keen like a singer, and he felt it within his chest, reverberating like the toll of a church bell, and he’d tilted his head back before he realized what he was doing and added his own low tone to the pair’s song. It rose between them, something burning like the shift, something vibrating uncontrollably like a panic attack, something that hummed all the way from his paws to the tip of his ears before settling behind his teeth as gently as a lover’s kiss.

( _It was terrifying. It was the most safe he’d ever felt._ ) 

And for a moment, as he ran beneath the full moon, it felt like the whole world was singing with him.

* * *

Afterwards, they went to Denny’s. It was the only place still open, especially on a full moon, and aside from a couple other bedraggled shifters in the corner, they were the only ones there. The waitress behind the counter was playing on her phone, disinterest and exhaustion plain on her face.

Martin could smell that she was a vampire—probably why she was working the late shift—and she was due to feed soon, too, judging from her paleness and the dusty sort of odor she had. Normally Martin would be more polite about scenting strangers, but his senses were always strongest after the moon and he was too tired to try and tune them out, so he simply avoided eye contact when she brought over their food. Not that she would have been able to tell what he was thinking, but it was the _principle_ of the matter.

Tim was slumped forward, looking just a second away from falling asleep as he cradled his coffee in his hands. Martin’s memories of the run were a bit blurry, but he remembered Tim’s boundless energy, the way he had kept up with Martin’s pace and still had the enthusiasm to play afterwards—it came as no surprise to see him looking so drained, now. Sasha looked a bit more put-together as she dipped her fries in some ketchup, but the dark bags beneath her eyes gave away her own exhaustion. And as for Martin, every single one of his limbs ached, and his throat felt tight and sore in a way that was unfamiliar to him.

He stared into his own mug (tea for him, since he didn’t like coffee) and tried to pin down the feeling flitting through his chest. It was rare for him to howl during a run—hell, it was rare for him to feel so _satisfied_ with a run in the first place. He’d never felt so connected to others while running, _ever_ , and while it had been an amazing feeling, now it was just making him anxious. Maybe because something about it felt familiar and important—something that Martin already knew, but that he couldn’t remember. 

Tim cleared his throat. His face was a bit drawn, like he was sheepish or resigned; Martin couldn’t tell. “Well. Guess we should address the elephant in the room then, yeah?”

Sasha nodded gravely, popping another fry into her mouth. With a sinking heart, Martin nodded as well. He wondered what Tim was going to say—maybe that the run had been fun but a one-time occurrence, and Martin didn’t know why that thought hurt as much as it did, but it was like being sucker-punched when he considered it.

“You felt it, right?” Tim said. “The hum, right? The warmth?”

There was a brief silence before Sasha volunteered with, “Well, I did.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed quietly. His mind was racing ahead of him, some sort of strangled feeling of anxiety and hope mingling within him, until—

Tim let out a snort. “Didn’t think I’d find a new pack at the fuckin’ Magnus Institute.”

Martin leaned his forehead down on the table. Something inside of him was small and trembling and keening like a wild animal. He couldn’t stop shaking, even when Tim’s and Sasha’s concerned voices reached his ears.

“Pack?” he said weakly, but even as he said it, he knew it was true. _That_ was the warm and familiar feeling. _That_ was why he’d felt so connected during the run. _That_ was the hum he’d felt working its way through his body, quivering and joyful and protective.

“Jeez, didn’t think we were that awful,” Tim joked. He rubbed Martin’s shoulder soothingly as he tried to smile, but it came out as more of a wince, a subtle uncertainty that looked alien on Tim’s face. It was clear he was as cautious about the situation as Martin was stunned.

“No, no,” Martin hurried to say, to reassure, “I just. Um…”

( _Martin didn’t know how to say that he didn’t think him or Sasha were disappointing in the least—it was just that he’d never had a pack before_.)

The silence stretched between the three of them, broken only by the low drone of music over the speakers, the quiet sizzle of grills behind the counter, and the low murmur of conversation from the other occupants in the restaurant. And then—

“My mom died when I was twenty.” Both Martin and Tim startled at Sasha’s voice, but didn’t interrupt as she took a sip of her drink. Her tone was thoughtful as she continued. “It was… the hardest thing that had ever happened to me. My dad passed away when I was a baby, so she was the only pack I ever knew. Never had much extended family, either. Just us. And when she was gone, it hurt.”

“Sasha…” Martin swallowed roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been awhile now,” she said. Her smile was sad. “I’ve grown used to it. But it still hurts, sometimes. To not have a pack.”

Tim gritted his teeth, and before either of them could say another word, he said, “I had my brother. He died a couple years ago.” It was clear from his tone and the stiff angle of his shoulders that he didn’t want to say more, and Sasha nodded before slipping her hand into his without a word. Tim seemed to relax at that and he shot her a slightly softer look, pain etched into the corner of his eyes, but held at bay as he squeezed her hand in return.

And here was the thing: Martin knew what he had to do next. He knew he could—and should—tell them about his own pack. Or his lack, thereof. Of how he still visited his mum even though seeing her ripped open that hole in his chest all over again. Of how he tried to phone and send letters even though she never responded. Of how he’d dropped out of school and lied on his CV and lived in a cupboard-sized apartment, all so he could afford her bills at the care-home. Of how he resented her stubborn pride and the way she’d driven off anyone that could have helped, and how he resented himself for resenting her, and how he resented himself for still loving her despite it all. Of how the only thing that could possible hurt worse than losing a member of your pack was knowing they were still there but simply didn’t want you back.

“She didn’t want me,” he blurted out, then wished he could disappear when Tim and Sasha turned their full attention onto him. He wanted to go home and curl up under his covers and not think about the half-finished, overly cheerful letter left on his coffee-table that would never be acknowledged by its recipient. He didn’t want to speak ill of his mother or burden his friends with his own issues. If this truly was his new pack—if he was somehow being granted a second chance by the universe—he didn’t want to ruin it with his own insignificant problems.

It was almost like the moment before vomiting—like his body was desperate to purge itself of all the hurt and loneliness that had built up over the years, that he hadn’t even realized lurked in the very depths of himself, and he was trying to hold it in, trying to swallow down the acid bile of it, and it was almost like the moon shift in how _it hurt, it hurt, it hurt_ —

( _What he thought was this: “She didn’t want me. And I know it didn’t start that way, that before dad left she was excited to be pregnant and start a family, and she was my mother and she was a part of my pack and we were happy, then, and I knew I was wanted. But then dad left and she got sicker and I was the only one left, and it was like as time went on she just got angrier and angrier and eventually she didn’t have any room for love, and the worst part is—I get it._ ”) 

But instead, he just buried his head in his hands, feeling a nauseating mixture of shame and guilt and anxiety at the thought of spilling his guts, and he wanted to stammer out an apology, to backtrack on what little he’d already said, but was scared that if he opened his mouth nothing but sobs would come out, and he couldn’t do that, he had to cling to whatever bit of control he still had, so he clenched his hands into fists and bit his lip and made little noises that weren’t words but just muffled sounds of frustration, and he needed to _stop, stop, STOP_ — 

Sasha’s hand slipped into his, and it was warm. It was warm and slightly greasy from her fries and she gave him a gentle squeeze, prompting him to look up so he could see her gentle smile and open expression. After a moment, Tim clumsily grabbed Martin’s other hand, calloused and rough but still warm, and he gave Martin a smile, too. They held each other’s hands, forming a lopsided circle at the Denny’s table, and it was three o’clock in the morning, and Martin felt it again, that hum that burned like embers in his throat, exposing but fond and protective, and—it was nice.

He didn’t have to say anything else. Not until he was ready, at least, and it was enough for him to form a wobbly smile back. He’d forgotten, somewhere over the years of being alone, that a pack meant support.

He could get used to it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes on this au:  
> -Shifters are a fairly common species, but not the only one; more creatures will show up as the fic progresses.  
> -Packs are a lot like real wolf packs! Which is to say they're usually made up of partners and their kids, extended family, etc., but non-blood packs still exist.  
> -Shifters can shift at will, but will usually only do so when it's appropriate. That's why Martin never sees Tim's or Sasha's wolf-forms before the moon, because you just Don't Do That at work.  
> -The full moon is the only time shifters HAVE to shift. It doesn't make them feral like traditional werewolf narratives, but it DOES dull human instincts/memories/reasoning. Unlike voluntary shifts (which change only appearance and not mindset), the full moon brings out the primal nature of shifters.  
> -After the moon is a bit like a hangover, lmao
> 
> hmu [@blackfirewolf](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/blackfirewolf) on my tumblr to chat! I also have a tma discord server you can ask to join,, it's mostly just me and a handful of other people yelling back and forth about gay shit lol


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: oh boy i can't wait to world build!  
> *proceeds to do None of that* 
> 
> anyway, s5 dropping tomorrow and i'm ready to die let's do this fellas

Things don’t change too much, afterwards. Martin is a bit disappointed, but mainly relieved; he wasn’t quite sure how he’d react if everything suddenly changed overnight, and he was largely a creature of habit, anyway.

But some things _do_ change. For one, him and Tim and Sasha spend more time together, hanging out after work and on the weekends, and it is comfortable enough that Martin even lets himself shift during one of their movie-nights. They now always eat their lunches together, whether in the breakroom or out at a café for some fresh air, and the conversation is always lively and pleasant. But the _most_ noticeable thing is how they all gravitate into each other’s spaces, now.

It’s a couple days after the run when Sasha touches Martin’s bare forearm as she leans down to look at his computer, and a shock jolts under his skin. She seems to feel it too, and immediately draws back, a surprised look crossing her face as Martin stammers an apology, although he doesn’t know what for. Then she just smiles, splaying her hand over his wrist, and this time doesn’t pull back when the feeling returns—something electric that settles almost immediately into a gentle warmth. Martin stares for a long moment, trying not to tremble, and finally clears his throat to ask, “I, uh, guess this is a pack thing?” His voice goes a little high-pitched at the end, still new to the idea of having a pack.

“Looks like the bond is settling,” Sasha says, matter-of-fact. Martin doesn’t get the chance to ask what she means before she’s giving him a pat and moving on, focusing back on their research and asking him questions about a case she’s working on. He tries to pay attention, but is distracted by the humming of his skin where she’d touched. It lingers even after she leaves.

It takes some adjustment for Martin, the fact that there are now other people that want to be in his space, but whether its his own loneliness being squashed or some influence of the bond solidifying, he relaxes into it by the end of the week. Now he expects Sasha’s gentle touches, her playful swats and pokes. And Tim had always been a touchy-feely kinda guy, but now he’s constantly in Martin’s personal bubble—leaning on his shoulder, draping himself over his back, ruffling his hair, giving him friendly punches on the arm and kicks beneath the table. Martin doesn’t think he’s ever been touched so much in his life, and while it had surprised him at first, now he eagerly leans into it. The humming settles, low and fond, in the center of his chest and remains.

Where work had once been a source of anxiety, now Martin almost looks forward to coming in. It doesn’t matter that the Institute smells odd—like something wet that had been dried out—or that he’s underqualified for the work; it’s the place where he’d found a new belonging, and that happiness melts away all of the lingering discomfort he has. Or, at the very least, it overrules it. All in all, it’s… good. More than good. It’s the best Martin has ever felt.

And then Jane Prentiss happens.

* * *

It’s the smell that gets him, mostly. Once he was safely locked in his apartment, he’d shifted out of some delusion that it would make for a better defense if she broke down the front door (not an unreasonable idea, considering the worms would have to work to burrow through his fur) and he might have been correct, if the sheer rot and filth and _wrongness_ didn’t override every single one of his senses the moment he took a breath. He threw up twice before he was able to shift back, shaky and weak as his human-self, and then he’d crammed every towel and blanket he had under the doors and sat with his back to the wall, staring and watching for little silver worms until his eyes burned with exhaustion.

The hum was gone—no, not gone. The warmth was still there, but it seemed distant under the weight of Martin’s own nausea and terror, and every time he tried to reach for it, to remember that feeling of protection, Prentiss started knocking and every thought and feeling fled in favor of panic. It was ok though, he thought. Because someone would notice his absence. Someone would come looking for him.

It took a full week before he gave up on that notion and cried into his knees, desperately wanting… something. Comfort, maybe? He hadn’t even realized how touch-starved he was until he no longer had it. He’d gotten used to Tim and Sasha. His pack. He’d become used to the way they’d laugh and tease and just be around, reminding him that they were there. It had only been several months, and yet Martin had forgotten what loneliness felt like, and now it was sinking its fangs into him with more force than ever before. He thought he might just bleed out from it, if Prentiss and her damn worms didn’t kill him first.

( _He missed Jon just as much, which was a bit startling. He missed the permanent lines on his forehead and his dry, snappish comments. He missed setting a steaming cup of tea next to him, getting a distracted and curt thanks in reply. He missed—and this was strangest of all—but he missed just being around Jon, like his body was a sun pulling Martin into orbit._ )

It was a horrible feeling, being trapped. It was made worse by the wolf, the primal side of Martin’s brain howling at the intrusion on his territory, at the fact he was helpless against this enemy. And he couldn’t even shift! Shifting had always been one of Martin’s biggest comforts, like stretching out a cramped limb at the end of the day, and he missed it. His apartment really wasn’t big enough for his wolf-form to have free reign, but it was big enough that Martin could usually curl up on his bed or pace in his living room, and the simple act of just being a wolf felt nice, like putting on his favourite pair of pajamas, and now he just… _couldn’t_.

( _He tried not to think about Jane Prentiss, of what he’d smelled. He couldn’t tell what she’d been before, whether she’d been a human or creature or even another shifter. All he could tell was how…_ corrupted _she was, how she was being eaten from within by something that could only be described as pure evil. He could sense it even in human-form—that wrongness that crept and overwhelmed and if he didn’t escape soon, he was sure he’d become like that, too, indoctrinated into whatever rot whispered beneath her sagging, dead flesh._

 _It was a bit like the pack hum, and that horrified him even more._ )

It wasn’t until the evening of the thirteenth day that Martin realized it was gone. He hadn’t eaten that day—both because he couldn’t stand the thought of more canned peaches, and also because his rations were getting low—and he’d mostly been ignoring the ache in the pit of his stomach, staring sightlessly at the front door as the sun rose and fell like it always did. It was maybe the ringing silence that did it, the fact he hadn’t heard a knock all day, and when he blearily stumbled to his feet to paranoidly check that the windows were still locked tight, he inhaled nothing but the stale scent of dust.

He froze, then shifted, not even bothering to take off his shirt, and would have wept if wolves could when all that greeted him was the leftover stench of whatever Prentiss was. It was still disgustingly potent, but his wolf-nose was much sharper than his human-nose, and he knew that the scent wasn’t fresh. She was _gone_.

He didn’t even think. He must have shifted long enough to get the door open, but then he was on four legs, racing down the hallway and giving his paws rug-burn as he got _out_. The fresh air of the streets hit him like a tidal wave, the aroma of brick and stone and gasoline and greasy diner foods and neighbouring garbage cans and _people, people, people_ that didn’t smell like corruption and worms and decaying skin, and he breathed it in like a lifeline, feeling the hum burn within his chest, swelling with the FREEDOM. It didn’t matter that commuters were staring at the wolf legging it down the middle of the street; Martin ran as fast as he could, a single-minded focus on getting to the Archives, where he knew Tim and Sasha and Jon were. Where he’d be safe.

A bit of sense came back to him as he blew through the Institute’s doors—Rosie wasn’t at the reception, so it must have been after working hours—but that didn’t stop him from scrambling down the steps into the Archives, and he just barely managed to pull up before he collided with the door of Jon’s office head-on.

Jon’s head snapped up when Martin burst in. Martin himself just… stopped, panting and heaving from the exertion of running so hard and fast, and whatever Jon was saying didn’t register as a line of drool slipped from his mouth and dripped to the floor.

 _Oh_ , he thought dully. He was still in wolf-form. That was probably why Jon looked like he did; a combination of shocked and furious but also unnerved. It wasn’t everyday that your employee just tumbled into your office as a massive, drooling wolf, after all. He suspected his sheer size didn’t help, either—he could barely fit through the frame of Jon’s office, and well… the office was also _Jon’s_ territory. It smelled strongly of him by that point—a combination of black tea and generic, overpowering scent-suppressants.

( _Martin had often wondered why, exactly, Jon used them. He knew a lot of bosses used suppressants to prevent influencing their employees through scent, but Jon had smelled like that since Martin had first met him, when they were both just researchers. He’d have said Jon was shy, but the man’s personality hardly seemed to suggest that. He was probably just private._

_It didn’t stop Martin from imagining how it would feel to tuck his face into Jon’s neck, to inhale whatever scent lay beneath the surface. He imagined Jon’s natural scent would be sharp and rich, like dark chocolate or crushed blackberries and—Christ, Martin really shouldn’t be thinking about stuff like that.)_

Still. Even with the aggressive blandness of the suppressants, it was nevertheless an incredibly comforting scent that made Martin’s bones turn to jelly. At the same time, though, it also reminded Martin of where exactly he was and who exactly was in front of him, and something inside of him shrunk back in horror at how unprofessional he was being. Almost instinctively, as Jon moved towards him, Martin rolled over onto his back, trying to stop himself from cowering in front of his boss, but—well. He could practically _smell_ the fury on Jon, and Martin wasn’t one for confrontation even when he wasn’t exhausted and still mostly scared out of his mind and, and…

He shut his eyes and whimpered in the back of his throat. There were too many emotions, at the moment, and Martin couldn’t tell which one to focus on. It made him feel dizzy and nauseated all over again. God, he prayed he wouldn’t throw up, not here, not now. He just needed a couple seconds to calm down, that was all, then everything would be _fine_.

A hand touched the ruff of his neck, fingers sinking into thick fur. Martin froze, resisting the instinctive urge to snap at whatever it was ( _it wasn’t Prentiss, it wasn’t Prentiss, he needed to CALM DOWN_ ) and instead stayed perfectly still.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice finally broke through Martin’s internal panic. “I, I, assume you’re Martin, correct? You smell like him.” Jon’s hands moved from his neck to his chest, fluttering and uncertain. “Are you hurt? Is that why you’re on your back? What, uh, what should I do?”

Martin peeled his eyes open, blinking at the sight of Jon kneeling next to him with a pinched expression. He inhaled deeply, letting scents hit the roof of his mouth, and realized it wasn’t exactly anger coming from Jon—certainly some frustration, but more than anything, he smelled stressed and _worried_.

Jon rocked back on his heels when Martin squirmed, twisting from his back onto his side. For a moment they just stared at each other, and then Jon cleared his throat. “Not hurt?” he prompted. Martin shook his head, as much as he could with it resting on his paws, and thought about trying to stand or shift back. The idea made him feel panicky all over again, though, and he wrapped his tail tight to his body and buried his face deeper between his paws, hoping it would somehow help.

“Right,” Jon said. “Right, right. I’ll give you a moment. Maybe, maybe, make some tea?”

Martin peeked out at him. Tea _would_ be nice, after two weeks of drinking nothing but lukewarm tap-water. He caught Jon’s eye and blinked several times, which seemed to get the message across, because Jon stood and left the office. Perking his ears, Martin could hear him rummaging in the breakroom down the hall, mumbling something to himself as the kettle heated.

With each second that passed, the blind panic and terror dulled. Martin was safe, and most importantly, he was no longer trapped. Being a wolf, for the first time in weeks, was both reassuring and a desperately needed comfort, and he huffed out a sigh as his heartrate finally, finally, slowed to normal.

God, he was exhausted. But he forced himself to stay awake, knowing Jon would be back soon and that he would want to know what had happened, and besides, he wasn’t going to sleep on the floor of his boss’s office like a—a _pet_. When he heard footsteps echo down the hallway, he reluctantly drew himself up and shifted back. It was just another embarrassing detail on top of the others that he was only half-clothed—his shirt was practically torn in half from his earlier shift. At least he had spared _some_ dignity, since his stretched-out trousers were still intact. Either way, Martin made sure to wobble his way over to Jon’s desk and sink down into the spare chair, hoping it would help further cover up how much of his bare skin was showing. Crossing his forearms, he slumped over the edge of the desk, cradling his head just like he had in wolf-form, and waited.

He heard Jon pause at the doorway, but didn’t have the energy to turn back and look. Or the nerve, honestly. After a lengthy few seconds of silence, a steaming mug clinked to his left. He tried to thank Jon, to use some sort of words to express his gratitude, but nothing came out. _Right. Great time to go non-verbal_ , he thought. Just _fantastic_. He settled on giving Jon another nod and taking a shaky sip of the tea.

It was far too bitter, but tasted like heaven on his tongue.

“Good lord, Martin, you look like…”

“Shit?” Martin managed to cough out. The words grated on his tongue and he wished he was a wolf again.

“Well, I wasn’t going to put it like that, but I suppose, yes.”

For some reason, that was when the full weight of Martin’s relief hit him, and he hunched over as soundless giggles bubbled in his chest. It probably looked like he was seizing, considering he was barely making any noise and couldn’t stop for the life of him, but Martin didn’t care. He’d missed that; the dryness of Jon’s tone, his carefully chosen, almost posh words.

Jon was saying something, but Martin’s mouth refused to work. He blindly grabbed the first scrap of paper on the desk he could find and waved a hand. Luckily, Jon seemed to again pick up on his non-verbal cue, and a pen pressed itself into his fingers. Focusing as much as he could between his shaky giggles, he wrote out a quick note: _im ok. not hurt. just overwhelmed_. _need a minute to calm down_.

Jon read it quickly, eyes flashing up to meet Martin’s, and he nodded. It was a relief, and so Martin again slumped forward, his giggling tapering off as he leaned his forehead against the flushed skin of his forearms. Minutes ticked by as Martin just concentrated on breathing and not dissolving back into giggles—or worse, tears—and throughout it all, Jon said not a word.

Eventually, Martin felt well enough to lift his head again. Jon was watching him with dark eyes.

“Sorry about that,” he tested out, relieved to find that words had returned, even if they were a bit raspy. “I, uh, guess I need to make a statement.”

A furrow appeared along the bridge of Jon’s forehead, but he was already reaching for the tape recorder sitting next to him. “Martin, are you sure about this?” It was clear from his tone that he was cautious; likely anticipating another breakdown.

Martin tried to hold back a sudden burst of temper. “I just want to make a statement about what happened to me. I mean, it, it’s what we do.”

That, at the least, finally seemed to snap Jon back into his usual self. “No, what we do is research statements. Usually those made by liars and the mentally unwell,” he said disdainfully.

“Well, I need to tell _someone_ what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?”

A lengthy pause. “That is beside the point.”

“If you’re that worried about it, it doesn’t need to be an official statement.” Martin knew Jon was fussy about those, for reasons that he didn’t fully understand. But if it got him to stop being prissy and just take Martin’s statement already, than fine, Martin would jump through hoops. “I just need a record of it.”

“Fine. You’re right. I suppose. Statement of Martin Blackwood, archival assistant of the Magnus Institute, London, regarding…”

Martin eagerly leapt in, suddenly burning with the need to explain what had happened. “A close encounter with something I believe to have once been Jane… Prentiss.”

“Recorded direct from subject, 12th March, 2016. Statement begins.”

Taking a deep breath, Martin started from the beginning.

* * *

Afterwards, Martin felt drained. It was a bit like after a moon, except there wasn’t even the satisfaction of shifting to lessen it. As he followed Jon down the Archive’s hallway, he stumbled a bit on his feet, reminded of how little sleep he’d gotten over the last two weeks. Overall he felt a bit better, getting the whole experience out, but he couldn’t deny how harrowing it had been to relive it—even if, in retrospect, the entire incident had largely just been an awful combination of boredom and nonstop dread.

The storage room was quite small, filled to the brim with shelves containing erratic stacks of loose papers and files. He blinked bleary eyes at the cot shoved up against the wall, where Jon was straightening out the covers and shaking out the single pillow.

“It’s a bit small,” Jon said briskly, “but I suspect it will have to do, for now. I can talk to Tim in the morning of getting something better.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Martin protested. “This is fine.”

Jon shot him a cutting look over his shoulder. “Fine. But do say something if it starts to bother you. I am quite a bit… smaller than you, after all.”

Swallowing roughly, Martin rubbed at his knuckles and didn’t reply. The cot did look a little small, but he was hardly going to complain when Jon had offered him a safe place to stay.

“Sit, before you fall over,” Jon demanded, and Martin didn’t need to be told twice. The blanket was a bit thin, but very soft, and he ran his hands over it as Jon puttered around the room, gathering up some files and mugs that had obviously been left there in the past when he’d stayed overnight. Martin almost wanted to roll his eyes at that; it figured that Jon would have a whole room set up for when he finally collapsed from overwork. He wondered if Elias knew about that. Or if he’d even care.

“Right. If that’s all, I’ll let you sleep.”

Roused from his wandering thoughts, Martin blinked up at Jon, waiting expectedly by the door. “I—yeah. Yeah, sleep sounds good.”

Jon gave a nod. As he turned to go, Martin called out, “Wait! Jon, I—um…"

“Yes, what is it now, Martin?” Jon snapped. He kept his hand on the door, clearly impatient to leave.

“I just…” Martin ducked his head, fighting down a surge of frustration. “Just wanted to say thanks. For letting me stay here. And listening. I appreciate it.”

There was a heavy pause, and Martin didn’t dare look up as he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. Finally, Jon let out a small huff of air that sounded almost like a sigh. “Sleep well, Martin.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving only a sliver of light from the hallway to peek through, and Martin sat in the darkness for a good minute or two, trying to convince his stomach to stop doing backflips. Eventually he laid down, squirming under the covers and settling with his back to the wall. Christ, the cot really was small—he could feel his feet hanging off the end, before he tucked them up. Sleeping on it as a wolf would be out of the question.

Still, it wasn’t his apartment. It was dark and quiet except for the buzzing of electricity in the walls, and as he buried his cheek in the pillow, there was no musty scent of decay and corruption. Jon’s scent was more prominent on the cot than in his office—the suppressants, but also over-steeped tea and sweat. As he breathed it in, Martin marvelled at how… how _nice_ Jon had been. In his own stiff, prickly way, at least. He suspected Tim and Sasha would have a field day when they found out.

Here was the thing: Martin knew he was a bit of an idiot, but he wasn’t a _complete_ moron. Getting a crush on your nightmare of a boss was a bad idea with a capital B, and he wasn’t going to indulge himself even for a second with the possibility that Jon could ever return his feelings when the man barely tolerated Martin’s presence. Besides, he was a total arse half the time, when he wasn’t actively avoiding or sniping at Martin behind his back.

And yet. Jon was, objectively speaking, _hot_. Or at the very least, he was checking all of Martin’s boxes with his lithe frame, sharp cheekbones, and long, slender hands that were always moving—whether it be writing or organizing papers or tapping away at his desk restlessly. They were fascinating to watch, when Martin let himself look. Plus, he had that silky black hair peppered through with white (Martin thought it made him look distinguished rather than old) that was always drawn back into a neat bun or ponytail. And of course, _his scent_.

Martin groaned aloud and flipped over onto his front, burying his face in his pillow. That turned out to be a mistake, as he got a fresh dose of Jon’s scent directly into his nostrils. Huffing, he flipped back over, pushing all thoughts out of his head and letting the exhaustion of his adrenaline crash and breakdown wash over him in a comforting, numbing wave. After all, thinking his boss was attractive was different than actually liking them, and Martin could admire the aesthetics while still acknowledging that, more often than not, _Jon was a complete dick_. 

( _As he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, he purposely did not think about Jon or his stupidly alluring scent._

 _And he also did not register the steady hum pressing against his ribcage_.)

* * *

Martin didn’t know how long he’d slept. There were no windows in the Archives, especially the storage room, and as he groggily rolled over, he was greeted only with shadowy darkness. At least the hallway lights were still on, and it gave him enough light to stumble to his feet without breaking a toe on a shelf or forgotten file box. The door squeaked as he opened it, but there was nobody around when he looked out. Folded in a neat pile just outside the door, however, was a clean shirt and pair of pants.

Not bothering to question it, Martin hurriedly slipped on the new clothes (the shirt was a bit small, but better than nothing), and finally ventured out into the Archives. He peeked into Jon’s office but the man wasn’t there, which—alright, that was a bit strange. Shoving down his unease, Martin proceeded to the breakroom.

According to the clock above the fridge, it was just after noon—that meant he must have slept for at least… a solid fourteen hours? Maybe more? Christ, that was probably why he felt so groggy. Though, his body had obviously needed the rest—it wasn’t like he’d been able to with a worm-lady quite literally knocking at his front door.

Rubbing at his eyes, he made himself a cup of tea and barely waited for it to cool to an acceptable temperature before downing the whole thing in a couple gulps. He then ventured back out into the quiet hallways, not sure what else to do. Everyone was probably on their lunch break, and it wasn’t like anyone besides the four of them frequented the Archives anyway, but still… Martin would have liked some company. At least Jon’s scent was still clinging to him, soothing away the worst of his anxieties (even if it made him a bit annoyed at himself, for finding it so comforting).

“MARTIN!” The shout has him flinching, whipping around to see Tim—with Sasha at his heels—striding down the hallway, pace fast and controlled. For a moment, Martin panicked. The intensity radiating off of Tim, the tense hold of his shoulders, the hard look in his eyes—all of it seemed to point to him being angry, _furious_ even, and he has the brief irrational thought that Tim is about to attack him before he was being dragged into the fiercest hug of his life.

All the air whooshed out of Martin in one breath. Not just because of how tightly Tim was squeezing him, but also because it felt indescribably _right_ after so much wrongness. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Martin tucked his head into Tim’s shoulder, the hum in his chest nearly purring with joy and warmth. Tim smelled just the same as he always did.

“I am _so_ sorry, Martin,” Tim said, low and rough into his ear. “I swear, if we had known…”

 _Ah_ , he thought. Jon must have debriefed them. “It’s alright,” he murmured back. “Really, I’m fine.”

Tim finally pulled back, swiping once at his eyes as he glared at Martin and jabbed a finger into his face. “It is NOT alright!” he said fiercely, “I knew something was wrong with the bond, but Jon said you were sick, and I thought it was just that, but it WASN’T, and I should have checked!” Before Martin could respond, he was crushed back into another hug. “I _swear_.” Tim growled in the base of his throat. “ _I swear to god_ , I won’t ever make that mistake again, ok?”

Martin just nodded against Tim’s shoulder (because he wasn’t quite sure he could speak without crying).

“Alright, move over, let the rest of us have a turn,” Sasha demanded, and Tim chuckled before taking a step back. Sasha immediately replaced him, pressing her face into Martin’s chest, and he could feel the way she shook, ever so slightly. She, too, smelled just like he remembered.

After a moment, she drew back, and beamed at Martin, her eyes shining. “Alright, we got food; let’s go eat.” She retrieved the bags sitting on the floor (he hadn’t even noticed) and the pair of them herded him back into the breakroom. Martin tried not to squirm beneath their gazes as he opened up the container shoved at him, but only succeeded in fumbling his chopsticks, suddenly nervous although he didn’t know why.

“So Jon told us what happened,” Tim finally said conversationally around a mouthful of chow-mein. “Seems you’re gonna be living at the Archives for awhile, hah? Rough.”

“Seems like…”

Sasha snorted, elbowing Tim in the side. “Don’t listen to him. We’ll stay with you, make sure it doesn’t get too lonely.”

Martin’s felt that familiar wave of protection wash over him, the hum burning with her sincerity. “Ah, you guys don’t have to do that! I’m sure it won’t be too long, anyway.”

“Shut up, Martin,” Tim said fondly. “Like we’re gonna just leave you down here with only Jon and spiders for company.”

“I like spiders!”

“No comment on Jon, though,” Sasha said cheekily. Tim laughed.

Blushing up to his ears, Martin groaned. “N-no, I mean—Jon is fine. More than fine. I mean.” He stabbed his noodles in frustration. “Urgh.”

“Ah, we’re just teasing.” Sasha patted his arm comfortingly, giving him another smile.

“I know,” Martin said, “I just…”

Both of them were watching him with interest, Tim with clear glee written across his face, and Martin resigned himself to digging his own grave.

“He was nice?” he tried, and sighed as Tim immediately did his best impression of a dog hacking up a bone. Sasha watched him, unimpressed, then smacked him on the back so he didn’t choke on Chinese food while laughing at Martin’s poor taste in men.

“For someone who’s known Jon the longest, you sure seem to be amused,” she said.

Tim wheezed a bit. “It’s _because_ I’ve known Jon the longest that I find it funny!”

“Can you both PLEASE lower your voices?” Martin pleaded. He knew that the Archive had a tendency to echo and the only way this conversation could get anymore mortifying was Jon overhearing it.

Thankfully, Tim calmed down enough to only let out the occasional chuckle, and Sasha had the decency to hide her smile behind her lunch. Honestly, no matter how embarrassing it was, Martin felt… relieved. The teasing, the banter—it was a routine he had missed.

“On a more serious note, you _are_ ok, right Martin?”

Instinctively, he nodded at Sasha’s question. “Y-yeah, I’m fine now, don’t worry!” Tim shot Sasha a disbelieving look and Martin’s hands fumbled on his chopsticks again as he tried to wave nonchalantly. “Seriously, never better!”

“Oh yeah, that’s convincing,” Tim said sarcastically. “Alright, finish your food, then it’s pack time.”

“ _What_?”

“You heard us!” Sasha said cheerfully. “We’re going to hug you again, and then we’re all going to sit together and watch dumb cat videos until our brains melt.”

Martin sputtered. “Don’t we have, I don’t know, _work_?”

“What Jon doesn’t know won’t kill him!” Tim declared, and Martin officially gave up. How he’d ever thought Tim and Sasha were the pinnacle of mature, professional adults was beyond him. Still, as Tim and Sasha sandwiched him in between them and cooed over kittens chasing string, he couldn’t deny how much better he felt. He hadn’t noticed—and maybe didn’t understand it—but being apart from them had disrupted the humming he’d grown so accustomed to. Their bond, like Sasha had mentioned.

(Martin didn’t remember what a pack-bond entailed, aside from the comfort he felt in their presences. He’d spent too long coping with the rejection from his mum to remember the good side of bonds. But… maybe it had something to do with transferring or regulating emotions? God, that was a scary thought. He’d have to discretely look it up when they weren’t watching him like a pair of hawks. Or nosy wolves, as it was.)

In the meantime, though… Martin leaned against Tim’s shoulder and grinned at a particularly overzealous kitten video on Sasha’s laptop. Before he knew it, the sweet, mingling scents of sugary coffee and strawberries had lulled him back into a comforting and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with a long time over how to incorporate abo elements into this without it actually being abo, since the dynamics fascinate me but the smut elements (which are pretty much the majority of abo) make me a bit uncomfortable so. Here's some notes: 
> 
> -Orientations (alpha/beta/omega) aren't set traits. Instead, strong emotions alter a shifter's scent into something either more dominate or submissive, so it's a constantly shifting dynamic!  
> -That being said, some shifters do lean more in one direction than others, e.g. Martin usually takes on a submissive role, but that's because he doesn't like conflict and doesn't want to scare people rather than an "in his nature" way that you see in a lot of abo fics. Long-winded way of saying that a shifter's predisposition isn't a definite.  
> -Most bosses will wear scent-suppressants; both so they don't unintentionally influence their employees (like being too demanding and taking on an "alpha" attitude accidentally) and also so their employees can't influence them (because as authority figures, they also don't want to accidentally project an "omega" attitude).  
> -The alpha/beta/omega hierarchy only truly comes into play during a moon shift. Otherwise, most shifters try to avoid consciously altering their scent unless they're actively trying to intimidate or comfort another shifter.  
> -This does not effect other creatures, only shifters. So while, say, a vampire could smell the anger on a shifter, it wouldn't translate to "alpha" like it would for another shifter.  
> -I'm not gonna touch on the heat/rut aspect of abo because 1) I have no idea how I feel about it, and 2) I'm not a smut writer so it's not gonna come up anyway lol.  
> -Pack-bonds will be explained more in-depth as the fic goes on. Think of it like queerplatonic bonds, tho. 
> 
> thx for reading and if you wanna chat, hmu [@blackfirewolf](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/blackfirewolf)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whatever i was planning for this fic, it's now nothing but assistant banter and jonmartin pining so like. hope y'all are good with that. 
> 
> coding this was a literal nightmare and if you don't have workskins on, i'm so sorry, i can't help you. I might come back later to try and figure out how to hide text but if i stare at css tutorials any longer i might claw my eyes out. 
> 
> anyways, thank you to basil for discussing texting style headcanons with me and also reassuring me this isn't ooc even tho i refuse to believe them sdfadfgdsg

“Oh, for _Christ’s_ sake.”

Tim grinned as Martin slumped down into his chair. “Everything alright there?” Martin just groaned in response.

Sasha made a sympathetic sound from her own desk, not even bothering to look up. “Jon again?”

“I swear,” Martin groused as he sat up straight, “I take back anything nice I might have said about him. _Christ_.”

It had been a week of living in the Archives, and while it was certainly better than being confined to his apartment, Jon was… how could Martin put this lightly? _Driving him fucking nuts_.

It wasn’t even that the man was acting ruder than normal—surprisingly, he’d actually been fairly civil about Martin living in the storage room—but it didn’t stop him from being as demanding as he usually was, despite the circumstances that had rattled Martin more than he cared to admit. In Jon’s defense, Martin hadn’t actually _said_ anything, but a part of him clung to the stubborn belief that almost being eaten by a worm-woman should have been an obvious red flag to let a guy have a few days off.

Except Jon was an workaholic. And seemed to expect the same from his employees.

Martin rubbed at his eyes, the statement on his laptop blurring from his lack of sleep. It was hard to get decent rest, between his paranoia of worms and the fact that Jon was usually puttering around the office at all hours of the night. Not that Jon was noisy, but any slight noise had Martin jolting awake, scrambling for the corkscrew he’d taken to sleeping with. It had been slightly better, the nights that Sasha and Tim stayed with him, but they had their own apartments to sleep in, and he loathed seeming so needy.

Still. The not sleeping thing was getting to him.

“Want me to talk to him?” Tim suggested. His tone was light, but his eyes were hard. “Tell him to back off, give ya a break?”

“No, don’t do that.” Martin huffed out a sigh. “It’ll probably just make it worse. Tell me I’m being overdramatic or some other nonsense.”

“Yes, almost getting eaten by worms—how unreasonable,” Sasha deadpanned. “We should dock your pay.”

Martin snorted with laughter. “Christ, don’t go giving him any ideas.”

“Aw, c’mon, he’s not _that_ bad.”

“Tim, since when do you defend Jon? Usually you’re the first to have a go at him.”

Tim stuck his tongue out at Sasha. “Yeah, but usually Martin’s the one giving him the benefit of the doubt. Someone ought to, if he’s not gonna do it! Boss Man isn’t even here to defend himself from you hooligans.”

“Hold on, what do you mean I’m usually the one to defend him?” Martin complained. At their twin arched eyebrows, he glared right back. “I don’t!” he insisted, “I just don’t want to get in trouble by ragging on my boss! Who, by the way, is only a couple doors down.”

“Oh please,” Tim said airily, “you’ve been making googly-eyes at him since we were researchers.”

“ _Tim_.”

He held up his hands in defeat, face stretched into a grin that wasn’t apologetic in the slightest. “Fine, fine, I get it; no teasing Martin about his massive man-crush on the most unsexy man alive.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Sasha said thoughtfully. Martin groaned and let his head thump back down onto his desk, since apparently work was no longer a priority. “His personality takes points off, but Jon isn’t too bad to look at. Good cheekbones.”

“Oh, and his lovely dark eyes!” Tim cooed. “His impeccable haircut! And the sweater-vests he wears! I swoon.”

“ _I hate you both so much_.”

“Love you too!” Tim sang. Martin didn’t even have to look up to know he was grinning like a madman. “Always here to help, that’s us!”

Ignoring the hum of warmth in his chest, Martin tilted his head so he could shoot a mock-frown at Tim. “Just because Jon is—alright, stop making that face—just because Jon is attractive doesn’t mean anything! He’s still a complete ass.”

Sasha let out a low whistle as Tim whooped loud enough that Martin cringed. “YES MARTIN, THAT’S RIGHT! ROAST HIM!”

“ _He is literally right next door!_ ” Martin hissed.

Tim purposely rose his voice another octave. “What, JON? Our BOSS? No, I suspect JON can’t hear us! JON is a diligent worker and wouldn’t waste time on idle gossip!”

“He’s going to keep doing that until you admit defeat,” Sasha said helpfully.

“If I’d known what I was in for when Tim invited me to run with you both, I would have turned him down,” Martin grumbled. Tim simply cackled, voice still echoing, and Martin could only be thankful that Tim’s joke was fairly accurate—Jon was probably so wrapped up in his work that he wouldn’t register the racket they were making.

God, he really, really hoped so.

“Speaking of,” Sasha interjected, “the moon is a couple days away. Did we want to go running?”

Martin shifted uncomfortably, returning his gaze to his desk so he wouldn’t have to look at them. “Uh, maybe next time?” he said weakly. It was stupid, but the thought of leaving the Institute scared him. Hell, he hadn’t even gone farther than the front door yet! It had been incredibly embarrassing to have Tim (with Sasha as backup) go to his apartment to pick up his bag, his laptop, and some spare clothes that actually fit.

More than anything, though, Martin felt guilt settling heavy in the pit of his stomach. They’d only been a pack for several months, and since the first run, they’d spent each moon together. Martin didn’t think there was some sort of mandatory rule that said packs had to spend each moon together, but still—he was new to this. He didn’t want to mistakenly offend them or imply that he didn’t want to run with them. He just…

“It’s ok, Martin,” Sasha said. A hand settled between his shoulder blades, gentle but firm. “If you want to stay here, we’ll stay here.”

Martin swallowed roughly and finally looked up, forcing the most genuine smile he could. “No, you both should still go out. Just… need some rest this moon, I think.”

“If you’re sure.” Tim’s voice was firm, teasing put aside for the moment. “Really though, Martin, we’d be fine to spend the moon here with you.”

“No, no, I—I think I just need some peace and quiet? You guys should still go have fun.”

“Won’t be as fun without you there,” said Sasha, and it was stated so confidently that for a moment it was like Martin had been kicked in the chest. “But we understand. You’ll take care of yourself, right?”

His chest hummed with warmth. “I—of course. I promise.”

The rest of the day went by much too fast, and before he knew it, Tim and Sasha were both standing in the doorway, ready to head home. “You sure you don’t want us to stay over tonight?” Tim asked.

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the storage room floor every night! Go home, both of you,” Martin insisted.

Sasha nodded, but Tim still looked doubtful. He’d been oddly protective ever since Martin had gotten back; frankly, Martin wasn’t sure how to cope with all the hovering (usually he was the one taking care of people, after all).

Luckily, Sasha swooped in as Martin struggled to figure out what to say. “Seriously, Tim, he’ll be fine. The Archives is the safest place.” She bumped his shoulder playfully. “Let him have a night of peace, yeah?”

“Alright, alright,” Tim chuckled. “But seriously, Martin, just text us if anything comes up.”

With Tim being physically pushed along by Sasha, Martin grinned and waved them out, promising them once again that he would contact them if he needed anything. It was only when they were out of sight that he deflated, huffing out a sad sigh as he returned to the breakroom. It was pathetic, considering that Sasha and Tim had stayed past their hours (and he felt guilty about that, since he doubted they were getting paid for their overtime) just to stay with him a little longer, and yet it still wasn’t enough to keep the heavy blanket of loneliness from settling over his shoulders.

It was barely past nine o’clock by the time Martin had finished tidying the breakroom, despite his deliberate slowness, and he resigned himself to another long night sitting in the storage room unable to sleep. As he passed by Jon’s office, he paused. The light was still on and he could hear the scratch of a pen, so he knew Jon was still working. He considered, for a second, popping in to tell Jon to go home, but then just shook his head at himself. It was hardly like Jon was going to listen to him—besides, it was hardly Martin’s job to look after his boss.

That didn’t stop him from retreating back to the breakroom to make him a cup of tea.

Jon startled when Martin walked in, despite the fact that he had knocked, and his eyes narrowed briefly before he saw the mug Martin was carrying. “Oh, thank you,” he muttered, eyes already fixated back on whatever he was working on.

Drawing up his courage, Martin set the tea down, then asked, “How late are you staying?”

“I need to finish this,” Jon immediately snapped. There was a subtle rumble deep in his voice that made Martin’s hackles rise. “Did you need anything else?”

Biting his lip to hold in his own sharp reply, Martin grinned weakly. “Ah, guess not. Um, good luck, I guess?” That received no reply, and Martin was quick to retreat. Pausing for a moment just to curse himself, he glared at the closed door and bared his teeth slightly, wanting to express his frustration in some way even though he knew he had nobody to blame but himself for how the conversation—if it could even be called that—had gone.

Retreating to the storage room, he flopped down on the cot and flinched at the way it screeched, protesting his weight. Jon’s scent had faded over the week and now it was barely noticeable unless Martin pressed his face into the pillow. Which he _didn’t_ , because it was hardly an appropriate thing to do, and it wasn’t like he needed the comfort of it or something, because he was a grown man and could stand to be alone in a small, dark room by himself. 

… _Goddamn it_.

Rolling over, Martin took out his personal notebook and tried to work on some poetry, but the words just wouldn’t seem to come to him. After scratching out the sixth line in a row, he admitted defeat and just stared at the ceiling, trying to pretend that he wasn’t adamantly listening for the squirming of worms or someone—or something—knocking at the door. 

A noise reached his ears, and before he could register what he was doing, he’d heaved himself to his feet and cracked the door open. Whatever recording Jon was doing in his office was muffled, but with the storage room door open, Martin could just make out the distinct rumble of another person’s voice echoing up the empty hall. It was dumb, he thought, as he once again flopped down onto the cot. More than anything, it was dangerous; leaving the door open was just inviting worms into the nice, sealed room he’d been provided. And yet… it was comforting to hear—to know—another person was close by. Never mind that it was Jon, of all people.

Martin’s phone buzzed lightly. Shifting onto one shoulder while still cocking an ear towards the sound of Jon’s voice, he unlocked his phone.

assistant gang rise up  
  
**Today** 10:15 PM  
Jimmy Magma  
how u doing marto  
miss us yet lol  


Martin couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. Even still, he felt his muscles relax a bit from where they’d been tense with anxiety.

assistant gang rise up  
  
**Today** 10:15 PM  
Jimmy Magma  
how u doing marto  
miss us yet lol  
**Today** 10:21 PM  
I’m fine Tim! dw   
Jimmy Magma  
oh really? how can you not miss us??  
sasha "the favourite" james  
he’s probably thankful that he doesn’t have to deal with u  
Jimmy Magma  
WOW IM WOUNDED  
I THOUGHT WE HAD SOMETHING SPECIAL HERE GUYS  
sasha "the favourite" james  
sounds like a u problem  
Jimmy Magma  
:^(  
sasha "the favourite" james  
anyway  
jon isn’t being too much of a pain is he   
No everything’s been fine! He’ll be working in his office for awhile longer.  
Jimmy Magma  
.....and how do you know that  
it’s jon!!! That’s a reasonable assumption to make!!!  
sasha "the favourite" james  
spill  
fine, I made him tea and he nearly growled me out of the room, happy?  
**jimmy magma changed Martin Blackwood's name to "stop making him tea"**  
TIM  
sasha "the favourite" james  
lol  


Martin let his phone fall down onto his chest, huffing at the ceiling. Jon’s voice was nothing but a gentle grumble, like distant thunder, and alright, it was—nice. It was very nice. Not just because it meant Martin wasn’t alone in the creepiest glorified library there was, but because it was _Jon_ , and Martin couldn’t help but like him, even if he was stubborn and grumpy and obviously didn’t appreciate Martin’s efforts—not that he could really blame him for that one, really—and maybe he was a bad choice for Martin’s affections, but Martin was a caregiver at heart. Besides, he tried to justify to himself, it wasn’t like he’d have a job if their Archivist kneeled over due to overwork, so Martin HAD to look after him, if nobody else would.

It was a flimsy excuse, but Martin could be stubborn when he wanted to.

His phone buzzing insistently on his chest like an angry wasp dragged him out of his thoughts. Checking the open door first (because he was still very much paranoid of worms, thank you very much), he once again unlocked his phone.

assistant gang rise up  
  
**Today** 10:46 PM  
sasha "the favourite" james  
for real you shouldn’t let him treat u like that   
Jimmy Magma  
actually gonna have to agree with Sash on this one   
marto u are a sexy beast of a man and u deserve someone who treats u right!!!!  
sasha "the favourite" james  
what he deserves is a boss that doesn’t bitch at him constantly  
altho yes u are also sexy martin  
Jimmy Magma  
gross :^(  
sasha "the favourite" james  
shut tf up  
Jimmy Magma  
wow ur rude this late I wonder if I should tell jon that his fave child is such a bully  
sasha "the favourite" james  
u can try  
Jimmy Magma  
i m  
literally screenshotting these messages as proof !!  
sasha "the favourite" james  
fake  
Jimmy Magma  
the biphobia…unbelievable……  
aw thanks guys!!  
although you’re both ridiculous lol  
sasha "the favourite" james  
as riveting as this convo is im going to bed  
Jimmy Magma  
lameeeee  
well it IS a work night!  
sasha "the favourite" james  
thank u martin  
Jimmy Magma  
SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK  
I WILL NEVER SUCCUMB  
sasha "the favourite" james  
tim shut up or i’ll email elias to dresscode u again  
Jimmy Magma  
.....  
yes ma’am goodnight ma’am  
goodnight Tim, Sasha. Sleep well!  


Now that he’d said goodnight, sleep seemed much more tempting. He let his phone drop down onto the cot next to him. He knew he should get up and plug it in—that he’d regret it in the morning when his battery was dead—but the promise of sleep was now tugging at his eyelids, and he truly was exhausted beyond belief.

Curling one hand over his chest, the other clutching the corkscrew under his pillow, Martin drifted to sleep with the rumble of Jon’s voice for a lullaby.

* * *

Martin woke up a second before the other person collapsed on top of him.

With a yelp that was more wolf than human, he lashed out, propelling himself backwards and almost shifting before he got tangled up in the sheets. The cot groaned beneath his thrashing and it took a few seconds for Martin to realize he was baring his teeth at Jon, who was staring up at him with startled, wide eyes from the floor. Only half-awake, it took an even longer minute for Martin to realize that Jon must have been the one to almost sit on him.

“You almost sat on me,” he said intelligently.

Jon used his elbows to sit up so he wasn’t half-sprawled across the ground, blinking up at Martin like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. From the dim light spilling in from the hallway, the bags underneath his eyes looked like dark, smudged bruises. It occurred to Martin to wonder what bloody time it was—he doubted he’d slept long enough for it to be morning, after all.

“Martin, right, uh.” Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, in a move that Martin recognized as someone trying to put order to sleep-deprived thoughts, and huffed out what sounded a bit like a laugh and a bit like a sigh. “My apologies, I forgot you were here.”

“You _forgot_ that I was living in document storage?”

That, at least, got him a sheepish look. “Well, yes. It’s—quite late, I suppose, and I’m used to just sleeping here when that happens.” He shot Martin a sideways glance before looking away again, his gaze shifty and uncomfortable. “Again, it must have just… slipped my mind. I’m sorry.”

“Well, no harm done,” Martin decided. You know, aside from nearly giving him a heart attack, but whatever. “Um, what time is it, anyway?”

“Well, I suppose you could say its more early than late?”

“ _Jon_ ,” Martin admonished, before he could stop himself. “You need sleep!”

“What do you think I was doing?” Jon snapped, waving a hand at the cot. “I’m not an idiot, Martin.”

Ignoring that, Martin scrabbled in his mess of sheets to unearth wherever his phone had fallen. The bright screen made him squint, but he felt his mouth drop open at the time. “Christ, it’s almost four in the morning.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” With a grace that was offset by exhaustion, Jon finally climbed to his feet, obviously tired of sitting on the floor. Martin winced as he heard his back crack in a couple places, but Jon seemed unbothered, casting a quick scan around the room in a way that displayed his displeasure with the situation. “Well, I’ll be going, then.”

Martin immediately felt something jolt beneath his skin. “No!” he yelped, flushing when Jon’s head whipped to make eye contact with him. “I mean—Jon, it’s much too late for you to head home! Does the tube even run this early?”

“It’s fine,” Jon said tersely, “I need sleep, after all.”

“By the time you get home you’ll just have to be up again to come back to work,” Martin protested.

“Well, what would you have me do, then?” Abandoning all pretense of patience, Jon’s voice rose to a sharp hiss, his whole body tensed up in a way that reminded Martin of a bristling cat. “I’m not just going to sleep in my office!”

“Take the cot,” Martin blurted out.

“…What.”

Wanting very much to bash his head against the wall, Martin grimaced but didn’t back down. “Well, this is where you usually sleep when you stay late, right? Hardly seems fair that I’ve taken it over.”

“Yes, because Prentiss chased you out of your flat.” Jon’s tone was more flat than sharp now, but his eyes remained wary. “You need it more, at the moment.”

“I’m not going to make you walk home at four in the morning, Jon. Besides,” he said a touch snidely, “you’ve already woken me up by coming in here. Might as well just stay.”

Jon shot him a peeved look. “And where will you sleep if I take the cot, then?”

Firmly decided now, if for no other reason than to spite the other man, Martin gathered up one of the blankets from the bed and stated calmly, “I’ll sleep on the floor.” He ignored the sputter he got in return, brushing past Jon to lay the blanket out on the floor. “Really, Jon, it’s fine; I’ll just shift and it’ll be plenty warm and comfortable.”

( _Martin didn’t mention that he was used to it. Now that he was older, he liked sleeping in wolf-form because it felt comfortable and extra warm, but really, it had become a habit when he was a kid. Back when he was a preteen, his mum had started to get sicker so bills were always tight, and when it came to either shutting off the heat or getting groceries for the week, Martin had always picked the food. They didn’t need the heat when he could just wrap her in every blanket they had in the flat. The fact that he had spent most nights shivering in his own bare bed, tucking his nose into his tail to preserve heat, was preferable to an empty stomach, after all. And his mum could hardly afford to skip meals, unlike Martin. It was fine_.) 

Martin laid out the blanket and stripped off his shirt quickly, ignoring whatever protest Jon was revving up for, and in less than a few seconds, he’d flopped down onto his side. Jon’s scent, which had faded over the past week, was now back in full force and heightened by his shifted form. Even with the scent-suppressants, the dark tinge of spilled tea and sweat settled thickly in Martin’s nostrils, bitter and infuriatingly comforting. Snorting, he cast all thoughts of Jon’s scent out of his mind and instead cocked his head towards where Jon was still standing, glaring down at him with crossed arms.

“Really, Martin,” he bit out, “you’re being ridiculous.”

Giving him a look that he hoped translated to _says the man working until four a.m._ , Martin just laid his head down on his paws and pointedly shot a look at the empty cot.

For a moment, they were at a standoff—Jon stubbornly standing with one hand on the door, glaring down at the cot, and Martin pointedly not moving from his spot on the floor.

Finally, with a hissing noise between his clenched teeth, Jon sat on the edge of the cot, stiff as a board. “Fine,” he groused, “but only this once, and only because I suspect you’d stay where you are even if I leave, correct?”

Martin let his tail thump on the floor a few times, resisting the urge to grin. Jon rolled his eyes and turned away, shucking off his top layers so he was only wearing an undershirt. For a moment, Martin’s mouth went dry and he wondered if Jon was going to shift, too. He was certainly small enough that his shifted form couldn’t be too large for the cot, and despite himself, Martin was intensely curious of what Jon’s shifted form would look like.

But Jon simply removed his glasses, carefully folded them on a stack of old statements, and slunk under the remaining blanket without a word. Hopefully it would be enough to keep him warm; the storage room could get a bit chilly, and just because Martin usually ran hot didn’t mean that Jon did, too. Honestly, considering how boney he was, Martin wouldn’t be surprised if he was the type of person to always be a bit chilled. It would certainly explain all the layers he wore.

“Good night, Martin,” Jon said softly, breaking him from his thoughts. He swallowed roughly, suddenly wishing he had the words to say it back, and settled for rumbling gently in the back of his throat instead.

Jon flipped over, his back to Martin, and pulled the covers up to his ears. Martin couldn’t hold back the burst of endearment he felt at the sight. It felt, in that moment, like a very vulnerable thing to do, and it made Martin’s chest hum with warmth, and—

Wait. Martin froze. That feeling, humming beneath his skin—it was something he’d become very familiar with over the last few months. It was the feeling of safety and home found in another person that he’d only ever felt around Tim and Sasha. The same desire to trust, to protect, to love and be loved in return. Somehow, it had snuck in and he hadn’t even noticed, and now it was smugly wrapped around his heart without any intention of fading. And it was directed at _Jon_.

Staring at the shadowed curve of Jon’s back, his body curled into a tight ball beneath the blankets and his breathing soft and calm, Martin unconsciously shifted a bit closer so that his snout was almost touching one of the cot’s legs.

 _Fuck_ , he thought bitterly, and resigned himself to not sleeping for the rest of the night as the hum burned at Jon’s proximity. 

* * *

Martin must have fallen asleep at some point, since the next thing he knew, he was being woken by the sound of whispering and giggling.

“Shh! You’re gonna wake them!” Unmistakably, the voice came from Sasha. A loud cackle answered her, then the click of a phone camera.

Blinking his eyes open, Martin was startled for a moment with how low things looked before realizing he was still sprawled out on the floor. His back was now firmly pressed to the side of the cot though, and his shoulder blades felt warm and heavy, like someone was leaning against them. Which… oh shit, was _exactly_ what was happening. 

Rolling over, Martin was grateful he was still a wolf so nobody could see how hard he was blushing. When had he moved to practically cuddle up next to Jon, anyway?! And how had it not woken either of them up?!

Jon himself had flipped back over at some point, and while he was still curled into a tight ball, one of his arms dangled out from beneath the sheets. His face was tucked into his chest, but Martin could still make out his peaceful expression. With a skipping heart, Martin realized he’d had his hand buried in Martin’s ruff just a second beforehand.

Another click had his head whipping towards the entrance, his ears going back at his packmates leaning on each other in the doorway, trying (and failing) to contain their laughter as Tim snapped another photo of Martin sitting half upright next to Jon’s sleeping form.

Not even stopping to think, Martin sprung to his feet and physically pushed the pair of them out of the room, grateful for the first time in his life that his wolf form was so large and strong. They went easily enough, although they completely abandoned all efforts to keep quiet as he butted Tim in the chest to get him to move, nearly causing him to drop his phone. Thankfully, Jon continued to sleep like the dead, and Martin huffed out a sigh of relief as they slipped down the hall to the breakroom undetected. Once there, both of them burst into peals of laughter. Sighing to himself, Martin shifted back to human-form, wincing at his lack of a shirt but unwilling to trek back into the storage room and risk waking Jon up. He settled for filling the kettle and crossly getting out some mugs for tea, glaring at Tim and Sasha whenever they started into another round of laughter.

“Are you done yet?” he asked, which only set them off again.

“Ah, c’mon, Martin,” Tim wheezed, “you were both so cute! Can’t fault us for that!”

“I absolutely can.” With a scowl, he placed Tim’s tea in front of him with just a bit more force than usual, causing it to slosh a bit over the rim.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he deletes the photos,” Sasha said, accepting her own mug with a wide grin. Tim just shot her a wounded look, dramatically placing a hand over his heart.

“Did it _really_ look that bad?”

“If you count cuddling with your boss so long that you’re late for work, then yeah.”

“Wait, what?” Martin shot a look at the clock on the wall and was startled to see it was past nine in the morning. Hah… he didn’t think he’d EVER seen Jon late for work, even if he was, technically, still in the building. The man was always the first in and the last out, most days going from seven to seven with hardly even a break for lunch.

“So,” said Tim, in a tone that made Martin regret making him tea, “how was your night, then?”

“Tim, really,” Martin huffed, “it was late, and Jon needed some rest, that’s all.”

“Yeah? And the cuddling was purely professional, hah?”

“Yes,” Martin stressed, before wincing. “I mean, no—Christ, we must have just moved around in our sleep, alright? It’s hardly like we, we started out like that!”

“Oh, and how would you,” Tim wiggled an eyebrow, “like to start out, then?”

Martin made an exasperated noise and Sasha smacked Tim in the chest with one hand. “Keep that up, and Martin won’t make you tea anymore,” she advised.

A noise from the doorway made Martin look up, and he felt heat rise in his cheeks when he locked eyes with Jon. He was squinting into the room, his peaceful expression from before replaced with his usual frown-lines, and Martin was suddenly acutely aware that he was shirtless in the breakroom. Not that Jon could really talk with his rumpled undershirt, but still.

“What are you all doing?” Jon rasped out, his scowl deepening as he attempted to clear his throat. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I don’t know, Boss,” Tim replied cheerfully, “shouldn’t you?”

Stiffening, Jon’s eyes flashed to the clock on the wall and he cursed under his breath. “Right, right—wasted enough of the morning, Christ—I’ll be in my office, then. All of you, finish up here and get to work, too.”

“Jon, wait.” Avoiding the shit-eating grins of his packmates, Martin stood and pressed the extra mug of tea into Jon’s hands. “You should, uh, probably eat something too? I can bring you something?”

Jon eyed Martin for a moment, and just when he thought he was going to comment on his lack of appropriate work clothes, he nodded and said, “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you, Martin.”

“Oh!” Martin had figured he’d turn him down, like he usually did, but Jon sounded… surprisingly civil. If he didn’t know any better, he’d even say that his tone had an undercurrent of fondness to it. “Uh, right, I’ll find something then! Breakfast is important, after all!”

Jon just nodded again and took a sip of his tea, humming approvingly as he swallowed. “Right. I’ll be in my office.” With yet another nod at Tim and Sasha, Jon left the room.

Martin hovered for a moment, refusing to look over his shoulder at his packmates, then dug into the cabinet above the sink for the package of biscuits he knew were there. The gingery ones that Jon seemed to prefer.

“So…” Tim started, and Martin immediately bit out a grumbled, “ _Shut up_.”

Martin ducked out of the room, Tim’s chuckles and Sasha’s giggles following him, and vehemently told himself that everything was fine. The humming and warmth had probably been wrong. He was just projecting, desperate to prove himself to Jon, right? He already had Tim and Sasha for a pack, and he certainly didn’t need to add his boss into the mix.

…Even still, it was probably best to put on a shirt before delivering the biscuits to Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last few weeks kicked my ass but i'm back and i'm now a university graduate in the worst time to be a graduate, so i have lots of free time to write fanfic and stress about my lack of a stable career, let's go fellas!! 
> 
> hmu [@blackfirewolf](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/blackfirewolf)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the pleasure of nobody, Elias shows up. Tim gets put in a headlock. Martin makes multiple discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOME PEOPLE MADE FANART!! my friend JumbleBee made [**this piece**](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/690439105561100349/702409968309239908/A_Warm_Hum_Fanart_3.jpg) for the last chapter ft. cuddly jonmartin and IcestormTundra drew [**them all running**](https://sta.sh/21xlbzq7rpt3)!!! when i say i cried seeing these, i mean i bawled my eyes out LMAO
> 
> i also did my own sketches of [**wolf marto**](https://blackfirewolf.tumblr.com/post/620216212111114242/wolf-martos-for-my-shifter-fic-hes-a-big-fluffy) pls look at him!! 
> 
> forgot to mention last chapter, but i used [**this guide**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722#workskin) to create the groupchat. i only know the basics of coding and i'd be totally lost if i was just on my own!!
> 
> anyways, big shout-out to my tma server for helping and encouraging me, love y'all <3 esp basil, who's my wonderful co-author for helping me write the text exchanges :3c

“Alright,” said Tim, “what’s the matter?”

Martin paused with his plastic fork half in the air, raising an eyebrow at him. They were sitting out back the Institute because Tim had insisted that he needed some fresh air—not that the city air was very fresh, mind, but he appreciated the sentiment. Eventually, they’d settled on the alleyway; it was a suitable compromise, since it was sunny enough to provide plenty of light and air, but was tucked away from prying eyes. Or any worm-ladies that might be stalking them, at least.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He buried his fork back in its takeout box—Thai food that had been provided by Sasha, since it was her day to choose. “Nothing’s the matter.”

Tim bumped his shoulder gently. “You’ve been out of it all afternoon. So, what’s the matter?”

“If it’s the teasing, we can stop,” Sasha volunteered. Tim’s face creased a bit, but he nodded agreeably.

Martin winced. He couldn’t say he _enjoyed_ the teasing, but he also knew it was all in good fun. And that wasn’t what was bothering him, anyway. “No, its fine, just… been thinking, is all.”

“Never a good idea,” Tim joked, then sobered. “Seriously, Martin. We’re a pack—we’re here for you, no matter what.”

Martin swallowed, ducking his head down as he clutched his food. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t know proper pack etiquette! Christ, he regretted not getting some books on shifter psychology, but he’d kept putting it off, and now—well, it wasn’t like he could read something like that in the Archives without broadcasting to both his packmates how little he actually knew. He supposed he could find time if he dug around the Institute’s library after hours but just—no. No, thank you. The Archives were creepy enough as it was, and Martin did NOT want to be wandering the rest of the Magnus Institute late at night.

But. How was he supposed to just casually bring up the fact that he thought Jon might be a member of their— _his_ —pack? Was it even possible to have packmates that weren’t connected to the rest of your pack? What would that mean for the bonds he already had?

He had no clue, and it terrified him.

Sasha’s shoulder was warm as she leaned against him. “Look, you don’t have to tell us, but something is clearly bothering you, and like Tim said, we’re here for you.” She paused, taking a mouthful of food and chewing as her brows furrowed in thought. “It’s something to do with Jon, isn’t it?”

“I—I mean, that wouldn’t be entirely wrong,” Martin admittedly miserably.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Seriously, how bad can it be? He finally seems to be warming up to you. Before you know it, he’s gonna be a part of the pack, too.”

The silence stretched. “Holy shit,” Tim said, his voice raising with glee, “is _that_ what this is about? You want Jon in the pack? _Jon_?”

“Tim,” said Sasha warningly, but he continued without a hint of hesitation.

“Oh, I knew you were all lovey-dovey over him, but I had no idea you were so whipped, mate! It was his prematurely greying hair, wasn’t it? Or maybe you just go for those grumpy types. You just couldn’t resist—”

“Tim!” Sasha snapped, and Tim finally seemed to notice how much Martin had shrunk into himself, one arm coming up to wrap itself around his waist in a parody of a hug. Immediately, regret flashed in his eyes.

“Martin, I’m—”

“It’s fine,” Martin interrupted. “I know you’re just teasing. I just—I don’t know, I’m not sure, um, how to say it?”

“Martin, it’s ok,” Sasha soothed. “Really, you don’t have to tell us. We’ll drop it right now.”

Martin shook his head and took a deep breath. “No. You both should know. I just wasn’t sure how to say that—I think Jon might be part of the pack? I don’t really—I mean, this is all… new to me, still.” He huffed lightly, running a hand anxiously through his hair as he avoided eye contact.

Tim’s hand on his shoulder made him look up, the man’s face pinched with shame and sadness. “I’m sorry, Martin. I didn’t… I should have known it was something serious, if it concerned packs.” He looked away, his expression warring with itself. “Fuck. It’s, you know, hard for me.” Martin opened his mouth to say he understood, that Tim’s own grief over his brother was a reasonable excuse, but Tim shook his head quickly. “No, look. I know it’s hard for you, too. And Sash as well. We’re all a little out of practice, I guess, but… that doesn’t mean I don’t care, and I certainly don’t want to, I don’t know, make you feel like you can’t tell us these things.”

Martin felt warmth spread through him. “Thanks, Tim.”

“Yeah, well.” Tim rubbed the back of his neck, giving a little, awkward huff. “Needed to be said, I s’pose.”

Sasha reached out and gripped Tim’s forearm, giving him a smile to show he was forgiven.

“So,” said Tim after a moment’s silence, “Jon, hah? I mean, makes sense, I guess?”

“What do you mean?”

Sasha laughed. “I mean, Tim has a point. If we became a pack, Jon would be a logical choice as well, right?”

“Yeah, who else is there?” Tim joked. “Rosie? _Elias_?”

Martin blanched and Sasha let out a mock-gag. “God, don’t even joke about that. Could you imagine Elias in a pack?” Sasha let her expression go placid. “Ah yes, hello fellow packmates. What a privilege it is to see you all again on this fine night. Would you like to see my incredibly expensive boxers, now?”

Tim howled with laughter and Martin grimaced. “He’s a vampire, why on earth would he be undressing?”

“In this scenario, he’s a shifter,” Sasha said primly, stealing some of Tim’s takeout while he was distracted. “Anyway, if I got stuck with you two as packmates, it makes sense that the only other shifter that works with us would also be a part of it, right? Like fate.”

“Would make sense that Jon picked us, too,” Tim pointed out, finally recovered from his laughing fit. “Must have felt some sort of,” he waggled his fingers, “ _connection_.”

“Jon only picked you and Sasha,” Martin said, careful to keep his tone light. “Pretty sure Elias had to convince him to take me on as one of the assistants.”

Tim shrugged. “Either way, we all clicked. Wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say Jon has potential.” A sly look spread across his face and he elbowed Martin in the ribs. “Can’t believe you’re not only crushing on our boss, but now you’re crushing on a packmate.”

Martin sputtered. “I _told_ you—”

“Damn,” Sasha interjected, “that sucks for you.”

“Hey—!”

“Poor sod,” Tim agreed, no hint of actual sympathy in his voice. “Really can’t catch a break.”

“Gay people really have no taste.” Sasha shook her head sadly, and they managed to hold their serious expressions for approximately three seconds before breaking into laughter again. 

Martin grumpily stabbed his food. “Neither of you are any help,” he declared, scowling at his feet. 

He couldn’t deny that he felt a bit better after talking to them, though, even if it didn’t provide much clarification on what he was supposed to do. He just wished that his relief wasn’t tangled up with guilt and shame from being so clueless in the first place. It just… it felt like Martin was deceiving them, tricking them by allowing them to believe that he was just “out of practice” with pack-related issues when in reality he had no clue how any of it worked. He dreaded how they might react if they knew.

It was enough that he didn’t dare open his mouth to say anything more.

* * *

By the time evening rolled around, Martin was seriously considering going into the Institute’s library, creepiness be damned. He was treading too close to some sort of line—something he didn’t know and something he was too scared to voice aloud, and he had the sneaking suspicion it was going to blow up in his face if he didn’t do something about it soon.

Still. He wasn’t eager to go exploring the Institute, so he took his time cleaning up the breakroom, which had become his nightly ritual since he’d started living at the Archives. It was a nice distraction, to just wipe down the counters and do the dishes and make sure the fridge was cleaned out. He was just toying with the idea of maybe wiping down the walls or baseboards, or finding a mop to more properly clean the floor, when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

“Oh, sorry, Jon, was I supposed to—” Martin had assumed it was Jon, since the man was incredibly light on his feet and Martin hadn’t heard them come up behind him, but his breath caught in his throat when he realized it wasn’t Jon standing in the doorway, but Elias. “O-oh, Mr. Bouchard, I’m sorry.”

“Please, Martin,” Elias said smoothly, striding into the room, “just Elias is fine.”

“R-right.” Trying not to fidget, Martin wrung the cloth he’d been using for the counters into the sink, acutely aware that Elias’s eyes were on him.

It wasn’t that Martin was _scared_ of Elias, but. Well. Martin didn’t like to make assumptions based on species, but the vampire always made him a bit nervous, in ways that had nothing to do with the fact he was a superior. Maybe it was his scent, soothed by scent-suppressants but still carrying a metallic undertone that was unpleasant and sharp. Or maybe it was because Martin could tell the man was always well-fed, judging by his warm skin and lack of visible fangs when he shot Martin a bland smile. He supposed it made sense, considering Elias was obviously well-off financially as the head of the Magnus Institute, but it didn’t put Martin anymore at ease. He was hardly going to judge someone on their diet considering the amount of meat he craved when it was close to a full moon or the times he’d woken up with bits of small prey animals between his teeth, but the thought of having to drink blood to keep healthy still made him feel faintly nauseous.

“Anything I can do for you?” Martin finally asked, since it didn’t seem like Elias was going to break the silence himself. “Maybe I could, if you’d wanted, um, I could make some tea? Or maybe you’re looking for Jon, I think he’s still in his office although he might have left since it’s a bit late, I mean, Tim and Sasha already left—”

“Yes, Martin, I’m aware.” Elias looked overly amused and Martin could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “I actually was hoping to speak to you, if you have a moment.”

“M-me?” Martin squeaked out, his stomach doing a flip. Oh god, why would Elias Bouchard, the head of the entire Institute, want to talk to him? It had to be something bad, right?

“Yes,” said Elias, graciously ignoring the high-pitched frequency Martin’s voice had adopted, “just you. I received a report awhile ago about the bonding of several employees, and considering the free time I had this evening, I thought it would be wise to check in myself.”

A wave of relief washed over Martin. That, at the least, was something he could handle. “Oh! Right, uh, I think Sasha submitted it once we were sure of it?” He let out a nervous laugh. “We wanted to wait a little bit to confirm, but after the second moon, they were sure that we, uh, were forming a pack. I think it was Tim that tracked down the right forms and we all signed them about a month ago.” 

“Yes. A bit of an unusual situation, but not unheard of. I assume there has been no conflict of interest in your work performance despite these personal relations, correct?”

“N-no, no, nothing like that! We all got along beforehand s-so, there hasn’t been too much of a difference, that I’ve seen?”

“Good. Of course, I will have Jon monitor you all a bit more closely, to insure that any tension is dealt with. I can’t imagine that a work environment is the most, ah, _satisfying_ place for solidifying bonds.”

Martin nodded, swallowing roughly and praying he looked like he knew what Elias was talking about. He’d looked into it after that first moon, and while a workplace was indeed an unusual place for packs to form, it wasn’t unheard of. None of the articles he’d read online had said anything about what effects it might have on bonds, though.

“That’s the other thing I was planning on asking about,” Elias continued. “How are you… settling in the Archives?” He folded his hands behind his back. “I can’t imagine that living in a work environment is very comfortable for you or your co-workers, is it?”

Martin felt more discomfort ooze through him. “Um, I’ve been—it’s been fine.”

“So you still think it is… _appropriate,_ for you to remain?”

“I—I—” Martin stammered, and nearly felt like crying when suddenly Jon’s voice cut through the room, saving him from having to respond.

“What’s going on?” Jon’s eyes were sharp as they darted between Martin and Elias. “Is something the matter?”

“Ah, Jon.” Elias gave him an easy smile, although the look in his eyes that made Martin feel pinned down and flayed didn’t fade. If anything, his gaze sharpened even more when he turned to look at Jon. “I was just asking Martin how he was faring, living at the Institute.”

“Were you, now,” Jon said tersely. “We discussed this last week; Tim and Sasha have no objections to sharing the space, and Martin has been keeping things neat so it does not interfere with any work. I believe he’s even been offering compensation upfront for any food or additional toiletries that are needed.” 

“Of course,” Elias interjected pleasantly, “no need for that tone, Jon. I simply want to make sure my employees are comfortable without any distractions.”

“Thank you, Elias, but I can assure you we are all doing fine.”

“In that case, I’ll leave you to it.” Elias paused in the doorway, another lazy smile directed towards them both which made Martin’s skin prickle uneasily. “Oh, and Jon? Do try to go home at a reasonable time.”

“…Of course.”

Martin waited until the faint sound of Elias’s footsteps had faded before slumping against the sink, huffing out a sigh of relief.

“Are you… alright?” Gone was the flinty tone in Jon’s voice—all that remained was a hesitant sort of awkwardness that, despite himself, Martin found hopelessly sweet. He was reminded of Jon’s hands buried between his shoulders, fingers twisted in his fur, and felt his face flame even further, just adding to his embarrassment.

“Uh, yeah, I’m alright,” he hurried to say, “just… wasn’t quite sure what to say, is all.”

Jon pursed his lips. “Yes, well… I did talk to Elias about the situation.”

Judging by the pinch between his eyebrows, it hadn’t been anymore pleasant than the conversation they had just finished, which caused guilt to sink heavy into Martin’s gut. It was a non-spoken fact that Jon’s stiff attitude shot up substantially when addressing their boss, and Tim had once commented (well, complained) that Jon had been much more relaxed when they’d worked as researchers and didn’t have to worry about kissing management’s ass. Martin was inclined to agree; he was fairly sure that a good chunk of Jon’s overwhelming prickliness came out of nervousness at his promoted position. The way he’d reacted to Elias’s presence during the surprise party they’d thrown for him several months beforehand had been pretty good proof of that, he thought.

“Thank you,” Martin settled on, hoping that it would convey both his thankfulness for Jon’s intervention and for apparently sticking his neck out for Martin in previous instances, however small they might’ve been.

“Of course.” Jon shot him a look. “Contrary to popular belief, I _do_ care about the well-being of my assistants.”

Martin bit back a sarcastic response, fairly sure it wouldn’t land well, and instead held up the kettle and asked, “Tea?”

“Yes, I—yes, that would be nice, thank you, Martin.”

A silence descended over the breakroom, and Martin was pleasantly surprised to realize it wasn’t awkward. In fact, it was a bit like when he sat with Tim and Sasha, the three of them working on their own separate tasks while occupying the same space. At the reminder of packs, though, Martin felt his mood sour a bit, anxiety once again curdling in his gut as he glanced at Jon out of the corner of his eye.

As if sensing his thoughts, Jon cleared his throat as Martin prepared their mugs. “On the subject of Elias… I hope he wasn’t expressing disapproval at anything… pack-related?”

“No, no, he seemed… a bit pleased by it, actually?” Jon hummed under his breath, gently prompting him to continue. “Just… got an odd sense that he’d almost been expecting it or something, I guess.”

To his surprise, Jon actually scoffed. “Well, you’d have to be blind to not see it.”

“What do you mean?”

Jon gave him a calculating look, enough puzzlement in his expression that Martin immediately felt panic shoot down his spine at the thought of unknowingly revealing his ignorance on pack matters. 

“Well…” said Jon carefully, “packs are usually family bonds. Blood ties. Unless someone is intentionally rejected, anyone with family members will, by association, have a pack.”

Martin hid his wince by stirring some milk and sugar into Jon’s mug; he knew the other man liked it sweet, but would never admit it. “Y-yeah, I know that. Of course.”

Jon accepted the mug with a nod of thanks then continued like he hadn’t been interrupted. “But non-blood packs are different. It’s not purely instinctual; it’s a conscious choice, like choosing a partner. Or, at the most, there’s a subconscious pull for individuals to group with those that they trust—shifters are one of the most social species, after all. It’s hardly surprising that they tend to group together.” He tapped a restless finger against his mug, a pinched look drawing his eyebrows up. “True, most packs take years of companionship to fully form—it’s why finding a pack in a work environment is rare—but it’s not impossible. Considering the high number of shifters employed at the Magnus Institute, it was bound to happen eventually.”

“Glad to know we’re a statistic now,” Martin joked weakly.

He received a raised eyebrow in response. “Indeed.” Jon paused to take another sip of his drink, his hands cradling it like he was absorbing the warmth, and cleared his throat again. “I hope that… nothing has been interfering with your bonds? If we are going by statistics, disrupting bonds can have, uh, troubling consequences?”

“Nope!” Martin squeaked, pushing down another spark of panic. “I mean—nothing, uh, nothing like that! Everything’s been fine!” He took a sip from his own mug, flinching when it scolded his tongue, and tried to pretend that Jon wasn’t levelling a perplexed look at him.

“Martin—”

“Really, Jon, everything’s been fine,” he interrupted, “n-no, disruption or, uh, troubling consequences.”

“Martin.” Jon’s voice was flat. “Do you have _any_ idea what I’m talking about?”

This, Martin decided, was the worst day of his life. Oh sure, he could lie on his CV and coast through a pretentious researching job no problem—could even get a promotion to a position he had absolutely no qualifications for—but when it came to lying to his boss about things that were supposed to be common knowledge, he gave himself away immediately. Fantastic. Like Martin didn’t embarrass himself in front of Jon often enough anyway.

“It’s fine, Martin,” Jon said, and Martin was surprised to find that Jon wasn’t looking at him, but was instead focusing on his hands, gripping the mug tightly as his voice took on a gentler tone. “Um. Just. If you _didn’t_ , I could perhaps tell you about some aspects of it? So you could, could, understand them better? If you wanted.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Martin nodded and muttered out, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, why not?”

“Well,” Jon began tensely, “like I said, there’s a difference between blood packs and non-blood packs. Blood packs are formed from birth—a literal family tree that establishes a bond to anyone sharing your blood. The further the bloodlines are from your immediate family, the less likely it is that you’ll have an established bond, but as a general rule, family lines always pass on pack connections. That’s why blood packs are considered the most common, since they have such an innate and hereditary nature, formed at such a young age that the bonds don’t even need to develop. Non-blood packs, however… those are more complicated.”

The more he talked, the more confident Jon seemed to get, and it occurred to Martin that it was very rare to catch glimpses of this version of Jon—passionately gesturing with his hands, his voice animated and fast, something about him loose and open where normally he was so guarded and ready to lash out. It was nice, he thought.

“The pack forming between you, Tim, and Sasha isn’t established by blood ties; it means it has to develop on its own. I, I, assume it’s platonic bonds, and in that case, it’s not like finding a partner and continuing bloodlines—it becomes a, a _web_ , an interwoven connection that has to be built up. The bonds are there but they’re still tentative, and to ignore them or, or, try to break them now would—well, wouldn’t hurt as much as a fully-formed bond, but it would be close. And given that bonds are reliant on communication and emotional regulation, that rejection could have any number of consequences on a shifter’s mental health and relationships. At the heart of it, shifters are reliant on connections.”

Martin swallowed. “And, uh, w-what about…is it possible to have a pack bond with s-someone who doesn’t return it?”

“Of course,” Jon said immediately. “That’s the tricky nature of non-blood packs. Just because one party forms a connection to another doesn’t mean it will be returned. Although, it won’t necessarily have any effect on the shifter in question, of course, if it’s not another shifter—it’s actually very common for shifters to adopt other species into their packs, despite misconceptions that packs only form between family members or potential romantic partners. But packs themselves are such an uniquely shifter characteristic that there’s no possibility for a two-way bond or rejection when a shifter accepts a non-shifter into their pack.”

“And what if it’s another shifter?”

“Packs form out of connection—I doubt that you would feel a draw to another shifter unless they also felt the pull. And if they really didn’t want to bond, they could always reject it without consequence, since there was no prior connection.” Jon’s fingers drummed against the table excitedly, his eyes distant as he thought. “It’s fascinating, really. Especially when you consider how interwoven non-blood packs can become.”

Martin set down his mug, feeling a bit shaky at the influx of information. “H-how so?”

“Think of it like this…” Jon tapped a circle on the table, sketching an invisible line to another point in front of him. “Two shifters, connected by bonds, are a pack—but one of the shifters could form another connection…” his finger drew another quick line, “…and suddenly, they’d be a pack of three. But two of the members aren’t necessarily connected to each other—they’re only connected to the first member! Given their proximity, they would probably bond eventually, but it’s entirely possible they would be content to share a singular connection to one member while still establishing a pack.” Jon splayed his hands out. “It’s—it’s not neat lines, it’s different branches sprouting from each individual! And this could happen to every member in the pack, drawing in their own connections without any overlap, until there’s a complex pattern of pack bonds. It’s _fascinating_.”

Martin took a moment to think before speaking again. “So, basically, what you’re saying is that a pack is reliant on an individual’s point of view?”

“I guess that’s a way of looking at it,” Jon agreed, “or at least, for non-blood packs. Like I said, they’re a little more complex in nature—dependent on choice and trust—and in turn, that means they can be more intense than regular packs.”

“You can’t choose your family, but you can choose your friends, right?” Martin joked.

Obviously winding down from his lecture, Jon only nodded agreeably, once again cradling his mug with both hands (although it was probably cold by that point). It was clear to Martin that Jon was a bit embarrassed by how lost he’d gotten in his explanations and was now drawing back into himself self-consciously, obviously unused to just being able to talk at length about what interested him. He wished he knew what to say to reassure him that he didn’t mind. Martin would happily sit and listen to Jon for hours, no matter the topic, if it meant seeing him so unreserved and eager to share. 

“Yes, well…” Jon trailed off awkwardly, darting a quick glance at him. “I, ah, hope that helps.”

Martin hurried to nod. “Yeah, got it: bonds are essential, work place could make it difficult to make them a priority, but ignoring them would result in emotional irregularity and a breakdown of interpersonal relationships. That’s the gist of it, right?”

“Yes, yes, that’s… that’s something I’ll be sure to keep an eye on. To ensure none of your job performances suffer from any potential negative consequences that may result from neglecting those developing bonds, of course.” And just like that, Jon had retreated back into himself, his tone clipped and formal as he stood from the table and dropped his mug into the sink. “I have some work to do. I trust you’ll be fine out here?”

“Of course.” Martin bit off a remark on Jon’s work habits, resigned to the fact that if Jon wouldn’t heed Elias, he certainly wasn’t going to listen to Martin. “And… thank you, Jon. Really.”

Jon’s shoulders hunched up slightly, the tips of his ears darkening as he stiffened at Martin’s quiet sincerity. “Right. Right. You’re—you’re very welcome.”

With a mumbled excuse, he turned on his heel and left, leaving Martin to stare after him. It was quite a lot to take in; almost too much information for him to fully absorb. Information that Martin _should_ have known—that should have been second nature to his species—but that he’d gone his whole life without knowing, all dumped on him in under twenty minutes. It was a bit overwhelming, but also very gratifying, and he let his happiness wash over him in a wave.

Plus, he’d had a whole conversation with Jon and it had gone wonderfully! No hidden barbs or harsh critiques for Martin to fret over—just a simple, enjoyable conversation! And not only that, but Jon had actually taken the time to explain something to him without complaint, all the while not once questioning or prying into why Martin didn’t already understand, which—Christ, it just made Martin swell with grateful affection for the other man. Jon probably wasn’t even aware of how much it meant to him.

Smiling to himself, Martin stood to wash the mugs. Throughout it all, the humming warmth that Jon’s presence had brought didn’t fade.

* * *

The following day was quiet. Jon didn’t acknowledge their conversation from the night before, brisk and distracted like always as he dumped a new folder on Martin’s desk, and Martin in turn didn’t breathe a word beyond saying good morning.

Oddly enough, Sasha also seemed lost in thought, simply humming something affirmative when Tim made a joke that would usually have her chiming in with her own anecdote. Martin exchanged a look with Tim, but only got a shrug in response. He was clearly just as confused as Martin, and after a moment, they started their work with nothing else said between the three of them. 

Thanks to their discussion the night before, Martin knew he was emotionally connected to his packmates. So, when he found himself worrying more about Sasha’s uncharacteristic subdued state than the research he was supposed to be doing, he tentatively reached out for the bond settled like a smoldering fire in his chest. He was unsure of what he’d find—he wasn’t even sure if the bonds were developed enough to tell him anything important—but to his surprise, he got a dull pulse of emotion that wasn’t his own in response. To his relief, it didn’t seem like she was upset or anything; just distracted by whatever she was thinking about.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed against his leg.

archive crime division  
  
**Today** 10:04 AM  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
so i’ve been doing some thinking  


Martin frowned and glanced up. “Sasha, why are you texting—”

“Shh!” she hissed, placing a finger to her lips. She inclined her head towards the doorway, where Martin could hear the tell-tale muttering of Jon outside his office. That usually meant he was looking for something and had decided to venture out of his office to search document storage, growing increasingly agitated as he couldn’t find whatever statement he needed in Gertrude’s disorganization. It always resulted in him pacing up and down the hallways for a good hour or so, until he either found what he was looking for or gave up. It also meant that he was, in a rare moment for him, within earshot of his assistants.

His phone buzzed again and Sasha gestured animatedly for him to check it.

archive crime division  
  
**Today** 10:05 AM  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
i don’t want jon to overhear  
undercover whore  
oooo spicy sash  
can’t wait to hear what this is about  
some hot gossip perhaps? office drama?? did elias ask you out?  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
don’t be gross  
no i was thinking about what martin said yesterday about jon being a part of the pack  


Martin’s head whipped up yet again, but neither Sasha nor Tim were looking his way, totally focused on whatever they were typing. Mind racing, Martin shot a quick response back.

archive crime division  
  
**Today** 10:10 AM  
it’s probably just me!  
and i doubt Jon feels the same anyway so you and tim don’t have to worry about having to accept someone else into the pack just because of me  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
no i was actually thinking you might be right  
what??  
undercover whore  
care to elaborate there, sash?  
lol Martin ur so red rn  
i don’t know what you’re talking about  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
boys try to concentrate for a moment yeah?  
like i said i’ve been watching and thinking and martin might be on to something  
undercover whore  
…alright i’ll bite  
how so?  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
last night i tried to focus on the bonds and i could tell part of it was coming from the archives  
undercover whore  
hate to burst your bubble here but you do remember that this is where martin is currently living right  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
yeah but it was MORE than just martin  
no offense  
none taken?  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
and this morning i purposely brushed up against him  
i wouldn’t have recognized it if i hadn’t felt the same with u both before the moon  
undercover whore  
so what ur saying that we need to take jon out running with us??  
good luck with that one lol  
wait i’m confused you felt something before that first moon??  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
yeah like subconsciously i was trying to decide if i wanted u guys as packmates  
the moon just confirmed it  
undercover whore  
that makes sense ig  
but why bring it up now??  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
well the moon’s tonight so it’s a bit too last minute to ask him to join a run  
plus martin isn’t coming  
but afterwards we should all sit down and talk about it  
like… ask him if he wants to be part of the pack?  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
well i was planning more on asking him if he also felt something  
i don’t want to make any assumptions  
undercover whore  
BACK UP.  
YOU WANT TO GET JON  
OUR BOSS!!!!!  
A MAN ALLERGIC TO ANYTHING THAT ISN’T WORKING  
TO SIT DOWN AND TALK ABOUT HIS FEELINGS????  
WITH US!?!?!?!  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
yeah pretty much  


Jon poked his head into the room, a furrow between his brows. “It’s very loud in here, is everything alri—” He stopped, frowning at the scene in front of him. “Is—is Tim having some sort of fit?”

“We would only be so lucky,” Sasha replied drily. Tim wheezed something incomprehensible, slapping a hand multiple times against the corner of Sasha’s desk as he continued to laugh uncontrollably while Martin watched in horror. “Don’t worry about it, Jon.”

“Well—”

Sasha smiled sweetly, and if Martin didn’t know the amount of secure accounts she’d hacked while they’d worked together, he would have said she was the picture of innocence. “What are you looking for, anyway?” she interrupted, obviously changing the subject. “Maybe we could help?”

Jon cast a dubious look at Tim, now face-down on his desk as he heaved with laughter, and said politely, “No, that’s alright, Sasha. I’ll find it eventually, and I’m sure you have work to do.”

“Of course, Jon. Just let us know if you change your mind.”

“I—right. When Tim recovers, could you tell him to concentrate on his work? I need a follow-up to the case he’s _supposed_ to be researching by the end of the day.”

From his desk, Tim wheezed and held up a thumbs-up, which judging by Jon’s expression, did little to reassure him. Sasha, however, gave him another winning smile and he ducked back out of the room after a moment, grumbling something under his breath. A minute later, they all heard the click of his office door shutting.

Tim snorted into his elbow, his shoulders still shaking but relatively calmer than before, and Sasha sighed. “Really, Stoker?”

“Really, _Miss James_?”

That earned him a headlock which Sasha was all too happy to implement, and Martin wondered if he should get up and make tea before Jon walked in again. He doubted even Sasha’s superior acting skills (and the obvious soft-spot Jon had for her) would help very much with her arm wrapped around Tim’s throat. Unfortunately, she dropped it before Martin could make an escape.

“Eck,” Tim gagged, rubbing his throat, “god, Sasha. Really?”

“Don’t even pretend you didn’t deserve it,” she said. “You almost gave us away!”

“What, in your devious schemes to seduce our boss into our pack?”

“Wait,” Martin blurted, “this _is_ a platonic thing, right?”

“At this rate Jon’s gonna fire you before you can even finish bonding with us,” Sasha said, ignoring Martin completely.

“Did we discuss this? Did we discuss having Jon in the pack? I said potential, not that he would actually join!”

“Guys, please, did I sign up for a weird sex thing or—oh god, is this what Elias meant by the workplace being a bad place to ‘satisfy our bonds’ or whatever? N-not that I have anything against you guys! You’re both very attractive, uh, but—”

“Martin, please chill the hell out, I’m trying to convince Sasha she’s crazy.”

“What,” she shot back, “for saying Jon should join our pack? Don’t try and pretend like you haven’t felt it either, Tim. I know you better than that. Plus, you’ve been friends with him for the longest.”

“I’m not _opposed_ to it, I’m just saying this is kinda sudden! Besides, apparently it’s gonna be hard enough to get Martin into bed, let alone Jon.”

“WHAT?!”

Sasha rolled her eyes and flipped Tim a middle finger. “He’s just joking, Martin. Don’t worry about it.”

“I feel like I should, actually!”

“Oh, so you’re saying you _don’t_ want to bed me?” Tim said, winking at him. A second later, he was back in Sasha’s headlock.

“He thinks he’s funny. But seriously,” she said soothingly, “everything about this pack is platonic, promise.”

“Yeah, you’d know if it wasn—UCK, MPPH, SASH—!”

“Fine,” Martin said curtly, eyeing where Tim was now struggling to escape Sasha’s grasp, “but I feel like we should discuss this? Maybe?”

Sasha raised a brow at him. “That’s what I’m trying to do, if you both could focus for one second. Or keep your voices down. I swear, it’s like—”

“Living with a pack of wolves?” Tim offered, then choked when she just tightened her grip.

“ _As I was saying_ , I don’t think it’s unreasonable to accept Jon into the pack.”

“Um, Sasha? You might want to let Tim go?”

“Fine, but only if he behaves.”

Tim spent a second recovering his breath, then immediately pointed a finger at Sasha and said, “Alright, first thing: not cool. Secondly, I think we need to back up this conversation. Why are you suddenly so insistent about this? And again, I’m not—I’m not _against_ it, just. Why?”

“I like Jon,” she said matter-of-factly. “You know, when he’s not being a stuck-up prick. And I realize we didn’t discuss it as a pack and I’m sorry for that, but I also know I’m not wrong.” Sasha hesitated for the briefest of moments, her gaze settling on Martin as she continued. “And, well. I was thinking—even if Jon is only apart of your pack, like you think, I would still want him around. Because you’re my packmate and I want you to be happy, and if we can help you make that connection, well…”

Martin felt himself soften. “Sasha, you don’t have to do that for me.”

“I know. But I want to anyway.”

Tim clapped his hands together, an easy grin sliding across his face. “Why didn’t you just say so, Sash? I’m totally on board to play a little matchmaker!”

“Don’t make me put you in a headlock again,” she warned, as Martin spluttered out a protest. “But Martin? Don’t sell yourself short—Jon could only wish he had someone like you fawning over him. Just don’t mix your romantic vibes with ours, unless you really do wanna ‘bed’ me and Tim.”

Martin buried his head in his hands. “Can we please change the subject?” he begged, cheeks aflame, and Tim cackled as he slung an arm over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I agree, I think all this serious talk—”

“Really? Serious talk? Have you heard yourself lately?”

“—Like I was saying, after such SERIOUS DISCUSSION AMONG PACK MEMBERS, I think we deserve a break! C’mon, Sash.”

Martin let himself be steered out the door by Tim, casting a quick glance towards Jon’s closed office door, and once again felt a gentle heat rise through him. As soon as they reached the breakroom, he instinctively started to prepare some cups of tea, setting out a fourth mug like it was second nature. He imagined what it would be like to actually have Jon as a packmate—how he might take more breaks and join them for meals, or come out to the pub after work, or just sit and chat like they’d done the previous night. That would be nice—more than nice, really, but Martin refused to think about his deeper yearnings.

By the refrigerator, Tim and Sasha were playfully arguing over what leftovers to eat, and while Martin had known they weren’t truly angry with each other, it was still a relief to see that their casual friendship hadn’t been effected by the serious suggestion to invite Jon into their midst. More than anything, Martin was filled with an overwhelming sense of fondness as he set the kettle on to boil, feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks as he listened to them bicker.

“So,” said Sasha, settling at the table with what looked like leftover pizza, “we’ll talk to Jon after the moon, then?”

Tim gave her a mock salute. “Operation ‘Make Jon Admit He Likes Us’ is a go, ma’am!”

Martin grinned, a squirming mix of anxiety and excitement rising in his stomach, and simply nodded in agreement.

* * *

archive crime division  
  
**Today** 9:34 PM  
undercover whore  
alright just arrived at the park   
i think sasha "daredevil" james ran like 3 stop signs LMAO screw the cops!!  
sorry again about not coming!!!! i hope you have a good time!!!!!!!  
sasha "im gonna hack u for funsies" james  
you don’t have to apologize we understand! <3  
we’ll swing by afterwards with takeout and we can watch a movie or smth :)  
undercover whore  
yeah and in the meantime,,,, don’t have too much fun at the archives without us LOL   
c u then!!!!!   


Martin hummed to himself as he set down his phone and stripped off his shirt, sliding on his loosest pair of undergarments that he specifically kept around for the full moon. Honestly, Martin still wasn’t sure if he’d made the right decision to stay behind—since their first run, he’d spent every moon with them (three in total) and it felt odd to be distanced from his packmates so close to the cusp.

And yet, despite that, he felt content. Sure, he was a bit nervous that he was unintentionally messing with their bonds and embarrassed that he was too scared to leave the Archives, but he trusted them. Probably more than he’d ever trusted anybody, if he was being honest, and it was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

He made sure that his blanket was folded neatly on the floor in preparation for his wolf-form, then sat on the edge of the cot, nervous energy making him fidget as his senses sharpened. With each passing second, the Institute’s scent became more and more heightened, and Martin pushed aside the unease it caused, trying to focus instead on the hum in his chest. Even though there was a considerable distance between them, he could sense Tim’s puppyish excitement and Sasha’s amusement, and he smiled in relief at knowing they were safe and didn’t seem to hold any resentment to his absence. He wondered how strong the connection would be when their bonds were fully formed—would he be able to check in on them, no matter the distance? The thought was incredibly comforting.

It was strange, when the moon hit its peak. Martin was used to seeing it coming, watching it rise from his bedroom window or over the forest in the times he’d gone on runs; but down in the Archives, there was no sense of time, no natural light, no windows to judge its crescendo. Instead, he was left with a prickling beneath his skin, a worsening sense of discomfort, and when the shift finally came, he wasn’t prepared like he usually was.

In a way, it hurt more. He’d never realized that he spent the moments up until the involuntary shift bracing himself for the pain, for the scorching of his veins and the grinding of his bones. It wasn’t purely the physical shift that hurt—it was the sensation of the wolf dominating his thoughts, the brief moments of raw, primal instinct before Martin was able to wrestle back a semblance of control. It was why he always started the full moon in human form, preferring to focus on the agony of his body rearranging itself rather than the temporary loss of his mind.

It probably didn’t last any longer than any other shift he’d gone through in his life, but the abruptness of it left him reeling, struggling to reorient himself. For several long seconds, he just panted for breath, muscles trembling with the aftershocks of the sudden change. And then he looked up and panicked.

This small, unfamiliar room—it wasn’t his territory! Why was he trapped here? Why he was all alone? Why did everything smell like _Cold_ and _Danger_ and _Eyes In The Shadows_ and _Being Watched At All Sides Like Prey_? A whine rose in his throat as he cringed away from the doorway, the walls, feeling small and caged as the hungry gaze he could sense but could not see followed him relentlessly, no matter which way he turned.

Then Martin pulled himself together. Yes, yes, that was him. _Martin_. Right. He shook his head, cringing at the way the Institute burned his nostrils and made the fur along his spine bristle. Now that he had wrestled back control of his mind, he was able to calm himself down—it was hardly like the sensation of being watched was new, after all. It was simply stronger while in wolf-form, and he supposed it made sense that he’d react so negatively to sensing it when he didn’t have a human grasp on things.

He stood stiffly, shaking out his fur again despite the cramped quarters. He’d left the door ajar before his shift so that he wouldn’t be trapped in the small room, just in case something went wrong (like a worm invasion), but for the most part, he’d been planning on spending the majority of the night hunkered down trying to nap. Right now, though, he needed a distraction.

Using his snout, he nudged the door open and stepped out, itching to pace out his nerves. As usual, the Archives were nearly silent aside from the buzzing of electricity in the walls, and his nails made a slight clicking noise as he padded down the hallway. Martin’s restless energy subsided substantially as he entered the breakroom, a sense of calm rushing over him as he inhaled the lingering scents of tea, leftover food, kitchen cleaners, and his packmates. The breakroom had always been Martin’s domain—as close to his territory as anywhere in the Magnus Institute could be—and a pleased corner of his hindbrain echoed with the thought of _mine_.

He’d left out a package of biscuits on the counter, easily within reach of his wolf mouth, and he spared a second to thank past-Martin in his mind before he tore open the top and swallowed a whole biscuit in one bite. It was hardly satisfying; he wanted meat, something for him to sink his fangs into, something that was salty and warm and bloody. The biscuit was just dry without any tea to wash it down and stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Still, tonguing bits of biscuit out from between his teeth was more entertaining than just laying on the floor back in document storage, waiting for the moon to be over. Not that he was planning on pacing around the breakroom all night—the thought of that seemed inappropriate, and he couldn’t help but remember Elias’s probing questions. No, if he was living in the Archives, inconveniencing everyone that worked there, then the least he could do was keep to himself and try to maintain some sort of professionality.

He sniffed at the countertop idly, wondering if it would be possible for him to get the cabinets open, when he heard a muffled crash from deeper in the Archives. Fur bristling, his head whipped to the doorway, ears pricked for more noise. Without even thinking about it, he trotted out into the hallway, following the faint fluttering of loose paper he could hear. It was coming from Jon’s office, he realized.

A part of him, more human than wolf, was scrambling to rein back his curiosity, desperately trying to remind him of Jane Prentiss and her silver worms that smelled like rot. It could be a trick or an attempt to get to him while he was vulnerable! Although… he couldn’t smell anything bad—well, at least not Jane Prentiss bad—and that was a scent he’d never be able to forget. Even so, he could feel his hackles rise as he slowed his pace, approaching a bit more cautiously now that he wasn’t purely being guided by animal instinct. 

Jon’s door was slightly ajar, although no light came from the office. Martin had assumed that Jon had left around the same time as Tim and Sasha, prepping for his own shift, and he certainly hadn’t seen or heard from the other man all evening. Still, it was difficult to imagine anyone else in Jon’s office—it was so undeniably _his_ that even bringing him tea occasionally felt like a gross intrusion. It was part of the reason he hesitated, not sure if it was alright to just wander in, especially while in wolf-form—not that he hadn’t already been in there before, but it felt different without Jon being there. A soft noise, almost like steam coming from a kettle, echoed from the darkened room and Martin made up his mind, nudging the door open slowly.

He couldn’t see much, at first. The light spilling from the hallway only illuminated so much, and while Martin could now see that there was a lamp on, it had been knocked off of Jon’s desk and was mostly blocked by a scattering of files and papers strewn across the floor. His wolf-form had much better night-vision than his human self, but with the way the shadows were casting things into weird angles, it took him a moment to adjust to the scene.

From the corner of the room, half-hidden behind the desk, something moved. Martin’s heartbeat spiked and he took a single step further into the room, trying to see what it was in the gloom—and then he froze, catching sight of a pair of eyes watching him from the shadows, narrowed into slits. Alarm bells blared in the back of Martin’s head even as he took another step forward, and a low, steady hiss started to rumble in its throat as it narrowed its eyes even more. Eyes, Martin slowly realized, that were a _very_ familiar dark brown, glinting with intensity.

Undeniably, it was Jon staring back at him in the form of a crouching, panther-like black cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda gave myself away with my cat!jon tag so this probably isn't much of a reveal for some people (shout-out to the one reviewer that guessed the entire plot of this chapter LMAO) but anyway! here's some notes:  
> -In case it wasn't clear, a couple months pass before the Jane Prentiss incident occurs; that's why Martin has gone on more than one run with Tim and Sasha. At this point in the fic, they've been a pack for almost three months!  
> -It's self-projection hour and Jon has adhd. Info-dumping king!!! <3  
> -There's a reason Jon isn't a wolf shifter and has kept it hidden; that will be discussed more in future chapters.  
> -Hopefully my lore building was clear enough to understand or even slightly interesting lmao. If you have any questions, please message me on my tumblr! I don't like answering questions in the comments section, it makes me anxious for some reason. 
> 
> this is the first multi-chap fic i've written since my ffn days, so the support for this fic has been incredibly overwhelming and i can't thank y'all enough <3 as a last note, i signed up for the Rusty Quill Big Bang and will probably be putting this fic on hold for a month or two so i can concentrate on that, sorry everyone! 
> 
> as always, hmu [@blackfirewolf](https://blackfirewolf.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
